


Expansion

by Calamityjim



Series: Liminal Spaces [11]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: All the usual stuff applies, Angst, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexual Tim Drake, Bisexual Male Character, Depression, Dissociation, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, It's this series folks, M/M, Misgendering, Mud, Queer Themes, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, Time Travel, accidental misgendering, miscarriage (it's like 2 lines of dialogue)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 101,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calamityjim/pseuds/Calamityjim
Summary: They say it only takes a single snowflake to trigger an avalanche. Proverbs exist for a reason.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Liminal Spaces [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1414078
Comments: 1523
Kudos: 2142
Collections: Best of Fanfiction





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaack. 
> 
> There are butts in this chapter. You have been warned :P
> 
> Okay, so I'm going to do a giant blanket trigger warning here because this shit gets dark, so read at your own risk. There is explicit homophobia, both external and internal. Canon levels of violence. there may or may not be character death. Talks about adult themes like miscarriage. And all the usual themes from the first fic, like depression and disassociation.
> 
> There will not be warnings give chapter by chapter so this is it.

Conner knew exactly when all Tim’s appointments with Dinah were. It had taken a little bit of gentle pulling before Tim had told him but the prospect of having someone to hold onto and cry out the stress of a session was a strong motivator, and apparently Dinah had encouraged it when Tim had brought it up. 

So Tim had told Conner. 

But Tim was in an appointment right now, an appointment that he hadn’t told Conner about, and Batman had followed Tim into the room and hadn’t left. Conner yearned to listen in, to find out exactly what the hell was going on, but, unlike so many people in the hero business, Conner actually had a modicum of respect for other people’s privacy. If it wasn’t a mission he tried to keep his ears to himself. 

Still, it was hard to tune out Tim’s voice when Conner was concerned so he had fired up the tv and had flicked it to No Signal, sinking into the white noise of static. He’d always found it soothing, the blankness of the screen of the humming of the tv. It allowed his mind to drift and focus on trivial things, like upgrades he wanted to make on his bike and whether or not it was time to give Wolf a bath. The animal was finicky about them, some days loving the idea while on others he had to be literally tossed into the tub. He was always huffy after that, but a huffy Wolf was better than one that reeked.

He felt the cushions beside him sink and blinked out of his trance, turning to catch a look of Kaldur. The Atlantian wore a pensive look. “Is everything well?” he asked in a calm voice that belied his true emotions. There had been a time where Conner had learned to read Kaldur, not perfectly, but it had been like looking into a pond. He could see deep enough to tell when there was a current running under the water. 

But Kaldur had changed since going undercover. They both had. 

“I’m fine!” Conner snapped, instantly regretting his tone. He shifted his weight, uncrossing his legs so he could plant his other foot on the floor. “I’m fine,” he repeated in a more reasonable voice. 

Kaldur did not look overly convinced. His eyebrows were pinched with worry and he gave the television a sideway glance before turning to study Conner again. “It has been some time since we have ‘hung out’ but I have not forgotten you, my friend, nor have I forgotten how you handle being upset.”

Conner sighed. If Conner had to explain to someone why Kaldur was Team leader, it wouldn’t be that it was because he was oldest. No, it was because he was both the most insightful and the most sincere. There was something that was simply good about Kaldur, which was why his defection had been such a blow to Conner. If Kaldur could descend into villainy, who could really be trusted? 

Conner felt stupid for believing in Kaldur’s betrayal. He should have known better. 

Despite all that, Tim’s secrets were Tim’s and Conner wasn’t going to go around spilling them. “I’m fine,” he said firmly. Kaldur nodded and moved to stand, but Conner could see the hurt in his posture as Kaldur walked away, and Conner felt a shard of guilt lodge itself in his chest. “Wait,” he called out and watched as Kaldur stopped, twisting so he could look at Conner again. 

Conner leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front. “It’s not.” Conner hated this. The Genomorphs hadn’t prepared him for this type of interaction and while nearly six years of practice had helped considerably, there were still times when it felt as though he’d just emerged from the tube. Conner turned his head to the side and growled before trying again.”It’s not you. It’s just. Things get tough and all that helps is time.” 

Kaldur nodded as though Conner had said something particularly wise. “Yes. I suppose that time is necessary,” he said as sadness rippled across his face. 

Conner growled. What had he done now? He was just making this worse. Tim would know what to say. It probably wouldn’t be true and would be designed specifically to make Kaldur feel better or go away or whatever Conner needed to do here, but he’d have the words for it. Conner couldn’t lie like Tim. He never really wanted to have the ability to lie like Tim, though given the few people he’d met on the Other Side, he was beginning to understand why Tim, honesty and boundaries weren’t things that meshed. 

“I met me,” Conner blurted. He slumped back against the couch, frowning at a stain on the floor. Garfield has spilled something there. “Other me, in that universe. And he,” Conner clenched his teeth as he struggled with the words, “he sucked.” he raised his gaze to Kaldur. The Atlantean slid back down beside Conner on the sofa. 

“How so?” Kaldur asked, tilting his head. In normal people it was a gesture of curiosity, but in Atlanteans it was a promise of discretion. Kaldur offered access to his gills, a place of vulnerability, in understanding of the importance of what was being shared. 

“He wasn’t evil or anything he just…” he trailed off, trying to explain what felt so muddled to himself. “He’s like the jock from all of M’gann’s shows,” the one’s she’d stuffed down the group’s throats at every opportunity.

“I think he meant well but he just didn’t see outside himself.” He straightened his back, clenching his hands into fists. “Tim wasn’t okay there,” Conner didn’t know if Tim had ever been okay, “and he felt like it was fine, like it was normal, to just leave Tim to deal with it on his own.”

Kaldur grabbed Conner’s shoulder with a steadying hand, giving it a squeeze. “He wasn’t you.”

“But he’s a reflection of who I could have been.”

“Perhaps,” Kaldur nodded, “but perhaps not.” He didn’t release his grip. “It is not hard to see that Tim is… maladapted,” Kaldur said tactfully, “and it would be unwise to assume that his universe had no small part to play in that. It is likely that the events that influenced Tim’s behaviour also influenced the behaviour of others.”

Conner snorted. “So I was never going to be him because this world doesn’t suck?”

Kaldur nodded, his expression serious and certain. “Indeed.” Conner could feel Kaldur’s eyes trace over his face. “But that is not all that troubles you.”

Conner twisted his head away, unable to hold the eye contact. “He lived with Superman’s parents. I didn’t even know Superman has parents.”

“Conner.” Kaldur’s grip tightened and he said nothing more until the other boy was looking at him. “No universe is perfect and I am sorry that you bear the brunt of this one’s failings. I know how much having his blessing would mean to you, but without it you have grown up to be a good person and a worthy friend.”

Conner didn’t smile, but he did cover Kaldur’s hand with his own. “Thank you. I’ve... missed you,” Conner confessed. 

Kaldur’s smile was small and gentle. “I have missed you as well.”

“Hey, guys!” Nightwing called out, parading into the room holding a small stack of papers. “Are you up to some team bonding?”

Conner groaned. “Not another carnival.” Nightwing had practically vibrated with excitement with the rest of the Team not far behind, but Conner had been bodychecked by the flashing lights and the smell of human sweat. The press of bodies and the screaming voices hadn’t done helped any. Nightwing had tried to ply him with food that contained more sugar than sugar itself, and given that Conner was nearly invulnerable and could jump for miles, the rides weren’t the promised thrill. 

“I think you’ll like this one,” Nightwing said with a grin, holding out a sheet to Conner.

He grabbed it and frowned down at the pamphlet. “Flourish in the Muck Annual,” he read out loud, brow crinkling as he took in the photos of people who looked like they’d been swimming in puddles. 

“It’s a mud race,” Nightwing explained with an excited grin, “an obstacle course that’s run in the mud and team based, so it’s all about working together in teams of three. It would be public, so no powers. And for charity so we’d be doing our part!”

Kaldur thumbed his way through a pamphlet. “What of your identity? You have gone to great lengths to maintain your secrets.” There was no judgement in his voice, only acknowledgement. 

Nightwing bounced on his heels. “That’s the best part! It’s all costumed. We can all show up in dominoes and capes. It’ll be a blast!”

Conner sighed. Things that got Nightwing this excited tended to do nothing but cause trouble for Conner. “Who have you already talked into this?”

An eerie laugh that still made Conner’s skin crawl filled the room and Nightwing ended it with a grin to match. “Everyone! Captain Marvel has a glamor for La’gaan and Garfield so they can pass for the day in exchange for being on their team. Mal and Karen going with M’gann. Cassie got stuck with Bart and Jaime and me, Batgirl and Robin are going to show you how it’s done.” He stared at them expectantly and Conner and Kaldur shared a hesitant look, neight convinced. 

“You have said the teams are to be of three, but Conner and I are only two people,” Kaldur offered as an excuse. 

“Tim’s your third,” Nightwing said matter of factly. 

“Is Tim aware he will be attending?” Conner asked bluntly. Batfamily dynamics were weird. Things that Conner would toss people out of a room for seemed to be a common way of showing affection and, for the most part, Tim liked being _asked_ to be included in that. 

Which wasn’t the same thing as wanting to be included. And seeing as how the other universe had people just expect Tim to do all these things, Conner could see how it was the asking that was the important part, but he wasn’t sure if the rest of the family got that or if they were just focused on the including portion. 

Nightwing looked delighted with himself in a way that led to trouble. “He said he’d come if I could convince the entire Team to come. You were the last two so we are good to go. As soon as he’s free I’ll tell him he’s on your team.”  
  
With that Nightwing bounced on his heels and cartwheeled out of the room. 

After a moment of stunned silence, Kaldur spoke up. “Is he aware that we did not agree?”

Conner shrugged. “Bats,” he offered as an explanation, shaking his head. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Don’t pick at it!”

Conner scowled at Tim’s admonishment but pulled his hand away from the edge of his domino. “I don’t get how you guys all wear these.”

“I concur,” Kaldur said. “I find this to be most uncomfortable.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “There is a _reason_ I switched to a cowl. But you have to admit the cape is cool.”

“That is a fair point,” Kaldur admitted. Tim had designed their capes out of some sort of plastic or rubber or whatever. Conner wasn’t sure. He wasn’t an inventor. 

What he did know was that they were water repellent, so they didn’t absorb the mud, and that they were sleek enough that they didn’t get caught on obstacles. The smooth material actually made some parts of the course easier, allowing Conner to glide over the muck like a sled over snow. Tim had also elected to do a half cape, like Captain Marvel. Nightwing, Batgirl and Robin’s capes looked to be the same material but full-length and in the mud they kept tangling around the Batfamily and inopportune times.  
  
They were still fairing better than everyone else. La’gaan had nearly puffed in rage when his cape had become entangled in an obstacle, forcing him to abandon the cloth, and Billy had cajoled Garfield out of his when the material had gotten heavy enough to bow the young boy over. After that it hadn’t taken long for the rest to accept defeat and dispose of that portion of their heroic costumes. 

A loud cheer ripped through the crowd as Garfield cleared the last obstacle of this part of the course, making Conner wince. He was the youngest participant and Conner knew that made him the crowd favorite. He wondered if the crowd would still cheer him on if they knew he could kill them all with relative ease. 

That was a dark thought in a good moment. 

The crowd cheered again and he flinched. Did the noise ever get to Superman? Ever get to him when he was just wandering around as Clark, doing Clark things? What were Clark things even? Conner knew Superman’s secret identity name, but that was it. Well, now he knew that he had parents. Did he have a wife? Or a husband?  
  
Did he have real kids?  
  
Conner shook his head. He needed to get out of his own head and enjoy the moment. This was fun despite his mounting headache. It was distinctly satisfying to watch La’gaan lose his grip on the monkey bars and land on his back in the mud. He let out a puff of air and Kaldur sent him a chastising look, recognizing the sound for the chuckle it was. 

The crowd cheered again. 

“Hey, Kaldur? There’s a good twenty minutes until the next round. I’m gonna go buy something to eat from the food trucks. Want anything?” 

Kaldur eyed up Tim, taking in the way clumps of mud dripped from his hair down and splattered on the ground. Tim’s hands were starting to crust, flakes of mud floating off whenever he moved them. “No, thank you.” It said a lot about Kaldur that he didn’t wrinkle his nose. 

“Suit yourself!” Tim said, turning to go.

“Ah.” Kaldur said, recapturing Tim’s attention. “The Buddy Rule.”

Tim rolled his eyes. The Buddy Rule stated that Tim wasn’t to go anywhere public without a partner, given his propensity towards beings kidnapped. Any member of the Team was acceptable as long as Tim didn’t go alone and gave a rough idea of where he was going and when he would be back. Someone had made a little plaque that hung in Mount Justice that read “X Days Since Last Tim Incident.” They were at thirty-two and no one was willing to risk that dropping back down to zero. 

“Fine fine,” Tim said airily, as though Kaldur had asked him for a favor. “I’ll take Conner.”

Conner felt Tim’s slim hand wrap around his wrist and Tim pulled him along, though as soon as they were out of Kaldur’s line of sight Tim changed direction, tugging Conner along until they were half hidden from sight behind a flowering bush. Tim glanced around nervously, biting his lip as he checked for other people who might have thought to share his hiding spot before the tension left his shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, pressing a palm against Conner’s chest as he leaned forward. 

Conner brought his hand up to Tim’s, covering it and tilting his head down. Tim stepped closer, shifting until their foreheads touched. Conner sighed at the contact, basking in it. Tim still struggled with being physically affectionate and honestly, Conner figured he probably always would. There were days when Tim couldn’t touch him, couldn’t even stand close enough to feel the heat from Conner’s skin, and there were days when Tim initiated, when he reached out with a smile and pasted himself against Conner’s side. There were days in between. 

So Conner drank in every touch like it was rain and he was desert, both flourishing and preparing to go without for a long while until the cycle could begin again. 

Conner didn’t resent it. He couldn’t. He had his own moments, fits of broody silence and snarls, when he was just so angry. At Superman. At M’gann. At the world. 

It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes Conner went in for a hug without asking and it was a bad day. Sometimes Tim tried to pull Conner out of his own head as a Bat, not as a boyfriend. It was slow going and hard work as they circled around each other, learning, always learning. It wasn’t the same hot passion that Conner had shared with M’gann. He couldn’t say that he’d wanted Tim since the moment he laid eyes on him. It wasn’t perfect. 

It was better than that. It was real. 

“I’m fine,” Conner said. 

Tim pulled back so he could frown at Conner. “You were making faces while we were watching.”

Nothing got past Tim. Endearing, when it wasn’t unnerving. “Just a headache.”

“Hugs make headaches better,” Tim said, his eyes shifting away shyly. It was never an expression Conner had expected to see considering the relationship had started with Tim kicking Conner’s ass. 

Conner chuckled and opened his arms. “Hugs make everything better.” Tim threw himself forward, nuzzling against Conner’s neck. Conner revelled in the feeling of heat and weight in his arms. “You do know I’m covered in mud,” Conner said dryly. “You’re gonna get it in your eyes.”

Tim snorted, the air tickling Conner’s skin. “I’ve been crawling through the mud all day. I’m pretty sure it isn’t going to be a hug that does me in.” 

Conner brought a hand to Tim’s hair, working out mud even as he scratched Tim’s scalp. “I don’t know. You do have the worst luck.”

“That,” Tim said, pulling his face away, much to Conner’s dismay, but he kept the rest of his body pasted against the Kryptonian, “is a mean thing to say.”

“You nearly died getting a cat.”

“Another one of your villainous schemes,” Tim said, his face morphing into something that was too happy to be a proper smirk. 

Conner laughed. It was weird, that this had become a game between them, but it felt good. A shared joke. Or was it a promise?Maybe he was reading too deep and it was just normalizing what their lives were. A clone of a villian and a hero, and a boy from another universe. “You’ve caught me. I sabotaged you getting a cat.”

“That was very wicked. But not as evil as what you are about to do.”

“Oh?” Conner raised his eyebrow, keeping his face straight. Was Tim going to kiss him? He loved it when Tim kissed him. Tim kisses were rare because Tim thought they were weird. Conner thought they were special.

“You’re going to touch my butt.”

Conner blinked wildly. “I’m going to what?”

“Touch my butt,” Tim practically ordered, but Conner could hear the way Tim’s breathing had spiked. He was chewing his lip again. 

“Are you sure?” Conner asked. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to. If Tim let him Conner would explore every inch of his skin, but it was Tim’s skin and Conner wasn’t going to do anything if there was the slightest chance Tim was feeling pressured.

“You’ve been staring at it for weeks,” Conner could feel the blood rush across his cheeks, “so you might as well have a feel. Plus,” Tim added, “I kinda want to know how it feels like. So, this is also for science.”

“Okay,” Conner said. “Okay.” He ran his hands down making sure to never break contact as he moved his hands. A startled Tim was one who had flashbacks, and no amount of touching was worth doing that to Conner’s boyfriend.

His hands slid down Tim’s back slowly, his fingers chipping dried bits of mud off of the cape. The material was almost silky under his touch and his fingers didn’t catch on it. Tim pressed himself a little closer as Conner’s hands dipped into his lower back, and then slid past his hips before finally placing themselves on Tim’s ass. He let out a shuddering breath.

So did Tim. 

Oh no. 

Conner pulled back, his hands on Tim’s shoulders as Conner crouched so he could make eye contact with the shorter boy. Tim’s eyes were glazed.

Dammit. Conner should have known it was too much. 

“Tim. You’re safe. It’s you and me and we’re at the mud race. You’re safe. It’s-”

“Yeah,” Tim said shakily. “I’m here.” He gave Conner a wobbly smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Conner said sincerely as he let his hands fall away, his Tim touching privileges for the day firmly revoked. “We should probably get back.”

As Conner turned to leave, Tim grabbed his arm. “No. One more time.”

Conner frowned as he spun back. “You aren’t ready.”

He knew he’d made a mistake the moment the moment Tim’s eyebrows flew towards his hairline. He poked Conner in the chest. “I decide when I’m ready and I’ve decided I’m ready right now. So get your ass over here and touch my butt.”

Conner starred, wide-eyed. “Um.” 

Tim rolled his eyes and positioned himself the way he had been earlier, practically glued to Conner’s front. “Now. Butt touching. Do it.”

Bewildered, Conner could only comply. “I’m resting my hands on your hips and then moving in, okay?”

“Fine!” Tim snapped. 

This was rapidly become one of the strangest moments of Conner’s life. Still, he did as ordered and moved his hands around, slow and steady, until once again they were gently cupping Tim’s ass. 

“Tim?” Conner asked with trepidation.

“This is weird.” Tim leaned back a little so he could meet Conner’s gaze. His nose wrinkled and he shook his head. “I don’t get what people are so into this.”

“Oh,” Conner said. “Um, do you want me to stop?”

“Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes?”

Tim gave a decisive nod. “Then it’s fine for now.” Conner gave a thoughtful hum. “What?” Tim asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“You do know that this means I’ve captured you, right?” Conner said, letting something a little wicked creep into his voice.

“And?” Tim asked, his tone a mix of confusion and excitement. 

“I have to carry you away!” Conner proclaimed as he shifted his weight, dragging Tim up so the smaller boy was sitting on Conner’s hip, being held up by the leg’s he instinctively wrapped around the Kryptonian’s torso and Conner’s hands on his ass. 

Tim giggled hysterically and leaned in, grabbing Conner’s shoulders. “If you don’t find a way to silence me I will be forced to tell the world of your wicked ways.”

Conner leaned down, pressing another kiss to Tim’s mouth. He savored the heat between them, the taste of a sunrise up his veins the way the sun never could. 

This was exactly what he wanted. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

By the time Conner zetaed into the mountain, everyone else, save the bats, had taken there dominos off which left him studying a bunch of reverse raccoons, with muddy brown faces and a clear band of clean skin around the eyes. He snorted at the image, knowing he would look no better. He pulled off his mask as he tossed it aside, there was the immediate sound of a cell phone camera. 

He looked up, glaring at the possible culpurate. All eyes were on Nightwing and the small cellphone he had in his hands.

“Delete that,” Cassie ordered.

Nightwing smirked. “No.”

Billy pointed and with all the authority of Captain Marvel. “GET HIM!” 

Nightwing cackled and raced out of the room, diving through the hallway. Conner snorted and kicked off his shoes, intending to head straight for the showers. Even if they caught Nightwing there was no way that he hadn’t already uploaded the photo to every electronic device he owned and some that he didn’t. 

And they were tracking mud all over the base. Their huge, professional base that the League frequently visits. 

Kaldur, Tim and Batgirl followed, obviously having come to the same conclusion. 

Or they just wanted the mud off immediately. 

Either way it ended with them all in enclosed stalls, sighing in relief as the turbid water around their feet ran clear. By the time everyone else was crawling their way into the bathroom, dust flaking off with everymove, Conner was redressed and scrubbing a towel getting the rest of the moisture from his hair. As he wandered the hall he was careful to toss the towel into a bin marked for dirty laundry, careful to practice what he preached. The Mountain was his home, the only one he’d ever known, and he felt a responsibility to keep it clean. 

He made his way to the kitchen and began to raid the fridge, pulling out anything he could use to assemble real food. There was enough for a decent sandwich. No lettuce but cucumber would do, cheese, and a meat that looked trustworthy. It didn’t take him overly long to prepare it and put things away. He settled at the island and prepared to take a large bite. 

“You know Nightwing’s ordering us pizza, right?” Jay asked from where he leaned against the door, still filthy. 

Conner scowled at him and the mess he was making. “You’re tracking mud all over the base.” 

Jay shrugged, the air around him bursting into brown. “Can’t shower until Nightwing crawls outta whatever vent he’s in. He’s got my shades.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to wander everywhere!” Conner snapped. At this point he wasn’t going to let anyone leave until they’d swept a room. 

“I’m staying off the furniture!” Jay countered, crossing his arms defensively. Conner glared at him and Jay stuck his tongue out in retaliation before grimacing. “Bleh. Gross. I had mud on my lip.” He wiped at his face and ended up just smearing more mud around. 

Taking pity, mostly because Jay was Tim’s brother, Conner rolled his eyes and set his sandwich down. He wet a hand towel under the tap and tossed it at Jay’s face. “Here. Take that and stay off the furniture.”

Jay immediately started wiping, being careful not to pull off his domino. 

“Hey, Robin!” Tim called. “Nightwing said to give these to you.” He held out a pair of sunglasses. 

“Sweet! Thanks, Tim.” Jay snapped up the glasses and sprinted out of the room, taking the hand towel with him. The damn thing had better end up in a laundry basket. 

Tim shook his head at his brother’s antics and sidled up to Conner’s chair. “Ooo, sandwich,” he said. “That’s a good idea. Nitghtwing is ordering pizza, but it's going to take forever to get here. Is there enough stuff left for another one?”

Wordlessly Conner picked up a knife and cut the sandwich in half. “Here,” he offered Tim. At the other boy’s surprise, Conner felt his face heat up. 

Tim gingerly plucked the sandwich from Conner’s hand. “Thank you,” he said with a soft smile before taking a bite. They ate in a soft silence and when they were finished Tim helped Conner clean, sweeping up the mess Jay had left while Conner wiped the table. Tim was putting the broom away when Superman entered the room. 

He gave both of them a glare. “With me!” he snapped and spun on his heel, marching out the door. Conner looked at Tim who shrugged, clearly as confused as Conner was. 

Wordlessly they followed Superman, intent to hold their peace until they found out what put such a bird in his cape. As the teens stepped into the war room, Superman closed the doors, engaging the locks. 

He took a deep breath before glaring at the pair. “How long has this been going on?” he snapped in a voice designed to make Luthor think twice. 

“Eating sandwiches?” Conner asked, genuinely confused. He glanced at Tim, who was pale and shaking. Instinctively, Conner put himself between Tim and Superman, glaring at the hero for freaking Tim out. 

“Now is not the time to be smart with me, Conner!” Superman barked. “How long and who else knows?”

Oh.

OH.

How had Superman found out about That? About THEM?

Conner turned to look at Tim over his shoulder. He was still pale, but he’d tilted his chin in defiance. Conner took his cue from that. He turned back to Superman. “What we do in our spare time in absolutely none of your business,” Conner snarled venomously, “so fuck off.” 

Superman looked gobsmacked before his face morphed into something thunderous. He took a step forward and Conner held his ground. “Did you just-?”

“Tell you to fuck off?” Tim said mildly, from behind Conner’s shoulder. “We did. Conner is right. You aren’t part of the Team’s chain of command and you are no one’s mentor. This is absolutely none of your business.” The words were steady but Conner could hear Tim’s racing heart clearer than he could hear his own.

For someone who has laser vision, Superman’s eyes were surprisingly frigid. Conner should have been used to that look by now. “It’s the Leagues business when members of the Team are going behind our back, engaging in _immoral_ behaviors.”

  
  
“Nothing the Team does is the League’s business!” Conner roared. That was why they formed. Because they were going to do things their own way. “You have no say here!”

“Maybe I don’t,” Superman admitted in a tone of granite, “but Batman does.”

“My word against yours,” Tim bluffed. His heart was stuttering too much for it to be anything but a bluff. 

Superman could probably hear it too, but instead he reached into his belt and pulled out a picture. It wasn’t the clearest shot, but it was enough to be damning. Tim and Conner kissing while Conner held Tim up by his ass, the smaller boy balanced on his hip, taken only hours ago. 

How the hell had Superman gotten this? Why would anyone _bother_ taking a photo of this? 

“Fuck you, Clark,” Tim yelled. It was the loudest Conner had ever heard him. “If you breathe a word of this to Bruce I will fucking end you. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” 

Superman didn’t say a word. He didn’t respond to the threat, didn’t look either amused or cowed. He just disengaged the locks and marched out of the room. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is half done. I'm not sure how fast I'll be able to write this. I'm going back to work. Sorta. I'm being 'redeployed' as a call centre employee so I will be working from my house BUT I will also still have a job and get paid and NOT have to leave the house. So I'm good. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed chapter 1 and stay safe!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark can be both as fast and as uncaring as a bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't sleep. So it might have a few weird errors. Eh. Point them out and I'll fix em when I'm free

Metropolis shone like a flawlessly cut diamond, light winking off of every facet. Sleek cars drove down clean city streets and people in elegant attire glittered before they disappeared into four star restaurants and art galleries. It looked like nothing had changed. 

Everything had changed. 

Lex’s grip tightened on his glass of scotch as he glared down at the city, at  _ his _ city. He’d invested millions in it, buying power and adoration, becoming Metropolis’s most beloved son before Superman had arrived with his ridiculous speeches of morality, but even then Lex had  _ held on _ . He’d played the game, played it better, keeping up with Superman in polls while amassing everything he needed to destroy the alien freak. 

Then… this.

None of the charges stuck. Lex had bought those he couldn’t convince, and disposed of those who couldn’t be bought. While he’d gritted his teeth at admitting he was missing  _ millions _ of dollars, it had created a strong case when Lex had truthfully said that none of those heinous photos were his. Even Lex had lines. 

So he’d walked out a free man. 

But the eyes of the city followed him with mistrust as children were tucked behind his parent’s legs as he passed. In LexCorp -his own building!- whispers could be heard. “Do you think he did it? Is he guilty?” 

The court system had decided him innocent but he was still being tried by the public. Like they had any right! He was above them! They were there to think what he wanted them to think and someone had  _ interfered. _

Scotch sloshed over the edge of the glass, splashing into Lex’s hands. 

It was Superman’s fault. No, he would neither play this deviously or quietly. He was all brawn, punching his problems away while basking in the world’s applause. But he was still connected. Someone on Superman’s little League had decided to get their hands a little dirty and they had publicly humiliated Lex, wasting years of Lex’s work and rendering all the good he’d done the city to little more than faded paper, news clippings that might have well been from decades ago for all they mattered now. 

Lex Luthor was not a man to be trifled with. 

“Mercy!” he called out, and she saluted from where she’d been standing silently in the corner for hours. “We have work to be doing.”

He would have his revenge. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Alfred had confiscated Bruce’s cell phone, his Justice League communicator, and had dumped a pile of Wayne Enterprise project reports with a pen and an expectant look. Bruce hadn’t argued, hadn’t even sighed. He’d dutifully grabbed the pen and the first page, reading the document word for word under Alfred’s watchful eye. He flipped through report after report until the butler was content to leave Bruce to his work. 

Bruce waited until Alfred’s footsteps had faded before pulling out a beaten book and spreading it over his paperwork. He was the Batman and had a contingency for  _ every _ situation. Not even Alfred could thwart his will!

Bruce bit his pen as he studied the brand new puzzle. He was near the end of this book and the difficulty level was a satisfactory challenge for his intellect while the lack of stakes was good for his blood pressure. Nothing was going to explode if he made a mistake.

He was only four numbers in when he heard loud footsteps and the edges of Alfred’s voice. He did not guiltily hide the book like a chastised school boy. No, this was  _ strategic _ because he was the Batman and the Batman could endure Alfred’s disappointment. Yep. No trouble for Batman. None whatsoever. 

Still he made sure to tuck the book into the drawer’s secret compartment, a hidey hole in the top, before flipping to the next page of the report he’d been working on and staring at with the focus he reserved for his casework. 

Alfred’s voice quickly became clear. “Must I repeat myself? Master Bruce is not to be interrupted for  _ any  _ reason. The League is more than capable of functioning without Batman for a single day. There is no reason that whatever you have to say cannot wait until tomorrow.”

“Move, Alfred,” Clark said in a tone that he had  _ no _ business taking with Bruce’s butler. Bruce slid his hand into the drawer on the other side of his desk, the one lined with lead, and fished out a small tube that just coincidentally held kryptonite. He finished tucking it into his sleeve as Clark pushed his way through the double doors into the room, followed by a vexed Alfred. 

Alfred and Bruce shared a look before the elderly man acquiesced. “I will prepare refreshments for our unexpected guest.” He shot Clark an honest to god glare before leaving the room. The shutting of the doors was like a slam despite being quiet as a whisper. 

  
  


“Clark,” Bruce said, frowning at the alien. Clark was here in full reporter dressup: an ill fitting suit, ugly tie, and that stupid thing he did with his hair. It meant that emotionally he was trying to put distance between himself and the problem by wearing this persona, and no matter how much Clark whined that he didn’t have personas, he did. Bruce was an authority on this. Reporter Clark was always a step away from his feelings, not allowing his personal sentiments to compromise the story. 

So Clark was either here because Brucie Wayne or his company had done something that the good people of the Daily Planet were going to expose, or Clark was in a snit and needed to rant about something that had shaken him. 

Neither of which were an excuse for pissing off Alfred. 

“Why are you terrorizing my butler?” Now Bruce actually had to finish the reports so Alfred didn’t take his frustrations out on Bruce. The old man had a wide variety of weapons in his arsenal, ranging from roping Bruce into house work, a chore strike or, the worst of which, an honest conversation about emotions and why Bruce felt the need to put off the responsibilities of his civilian life. Bruce could handle dirty sheets because the washing machine was beyond him but he absolutely loathed when Alfred brought up all the work that Bruce had been intentionally ignoring, like agreeing to yet another tv appearance.

“Look at this!” Clark snapped and tossed a handful of photos across Bruce’s desk. Bruse arched an eyebrow at that dramatic gesture and wondered if it was one Clark actually used in his dealings with Luthor or if he just practiced it at home in case he ever got to do a grand reveal. 

Still, Bruce picked up the photos flipping through them with a detective's eye. Two subjects. Young. Teens? One slender, gender indeterminate. Masked. Criminals? Flip. Covered in mud. Visible capes. Budding vigilantes? Small one looking around cautiously. Hiding behind bushes. Flip. Lovers? That was either a whisper or a kiss. Flip. Better angle. Kissing confirmed. Definitely lovers. Flip. Unmistakable intimate touching. Flip. More touching. Flip. T-shirt logo visible. Charity obstacle course. Clark was reporting there. Flip.

Tim and Conner. 

The thought hit Bruce with the weight of Harley’s hammer. This was Tim and Conner, draping themselves all over each other. Tim had been visiting Conner more often lately, he’d shown Bruce the aquarium photos and his account of their trip to the Central City Art Gallery and focused on the art, with only the occasional observation of Conner’s behaviour. The other recollections of their time together had been innocuous and above suspicion. 

Bruce was impressed. Tim had given zero indication that he had any romantic interests and all interactions Bruce had witnessed between him and Conner had been platonic. Nightwing spent more time with the pair of them and while Dick kept Tim’s secrets -as he should, warned his inner Dinah- there were some things he didn’t have a poker face on. He would have been all misty eyed every time Tim so much as mentioned Conner. 

But now Bruce knew. What was he supposed to do? Confront Tim about it? Their last confrontation hadn’t gone well. Dinah had sat down with both of them for a few sessions, and while Tim accepted that Bruce had the best of intentions, and Bruce was learning to accept that he didn’t have a right to know all of Tim’s painful history, Cass was still pissed with Bruce. While the boys in the Manor still discussed her often enough for Bruce to know that she was still in his house, he rarely saw her. When he did she just stared silently at him with knowing eyes before vanishing back into the shadows. 

It was unnerving but another great motivator to remember to be calm and thoughtful when dealing with Tim. 

So maybe confronting Tim about it wasn’t the best idea. But pretending he didn’t know would likely turn out poorly as well. Tim might see it as Bruce spying on him or lying to him. Maybe the indirect approach? Let Tim know through small hints that he knew? God, he needed to ask Dinah about this. Therapy had not prepared him for this. 

And there were other things to consider. Were they being safe? How thorough was Tim’s sexual education? How was Conner’s? Did they know the mechanical differences between vaginal and anal sex? Were they fumbling their way through it or did they have a communication system to avoid retraumatizing Tim?

Did Bruce need to give them The Talk?

“Well?” snarled Clark, as though he was waiting for Bruce to overturn the desk. 

Bruce flipped through the pictures again, pulling one aside. Now that he realized who they were he could clearly recognize them in this photo. Tim on Conner’s hip, their foreheads touching and a messy smile on Tim’s face. He was definitely keeping this one.

“It’s unexpected,” Bruce grudgingly admitted. He hated having to say out loud that he wasn’t the first to know and he could understand Clark’s frustration with this being a surprise. “It could have a serious impact on Team dynamic, though perhaps for the best.” Miss Martian, Lagoon Boy and Conner were still immersed in some sort of teen drama over Conner and Miss Martian’s break-up. 

“That’s all you have to say,” Clark asked, apoplectic, “to this?”

Bruce looked down at the photos again, wondering what he was missing. They all seemed to be well within decency. Bruce had definitely done more scandalous things with far more of an audience, so he had no room to judge. 

The doors rattled as they were thrown open, a pasty looking Tim breathing hard as he half stumbled into the room, Conner fast at his heels. Tim looked from Clark, to the photos in Bruce’s hand, to Bruce, and promptly threw up on the hardwood.

Bruce launched himself over the desk towards Tim. Conner stepped in front, arms held out to either side as though Bruce was an oncoming truck that needed to be stopped. He managed to halt before he slammed into Conner.

Right. Tim was triggered. Slow, careful, movements. 

“Hey, Champ,” Bruce called, bending over so he could see underneath Conner’s arm. Tim was tucked behind the Kryptonian boy, still breathing heavy. His hand was bunched into Conner’s shirt and his own was splattered with vomit. 

He didn’t look over at Bruce. 

“Hey,” Bruce called again. Tim was shuddering and Bruce could clearly see the moisture, the tears, dripping off of Tim’s nose. “Hey, it’s okay,” Bruce promised despite having no clue what was going on. While his words were having little impact on Tim, Conner, at least, relaxed his shoulders, letting his arms fall to his sides. Bruce took that as an invitation to sidle around. With great care Bruce reached a hand forward, placing it on Tim’s shoulder. The boy shuddered but didn’t pull away. 

Bruce took it as permission to slide closer, slowly winding his way around Tim until he was wrapped around the boy like a blanket on a cold winter’s night sliding them both to the floor. “It’s okay, Tim. It’s okay.” He gently pushed Tim’s head down onto his shoulder, giving the boy a place to rest and started to run his hands through Tim’s hair. 

“Are you going to throw me out?” Tim whispered dully. 

Throw Tim out? Bruce blinked and then looked up, studying Conner who looked grim and ready for a fight, to Clark, who was a mix of righteous rage, guilt and satisfaction. What the hell had Clark done? How was Bruce going to fix it.

“Leave. Both of you.” Batman’s voice left through his lips.

Clark’s footsteps echoed dully as he left the room at a brisk pace, eager to leave now that Batman had reared his head. 

Conner didn’t move. 

“I. Said. Leave.”

“No.” Conner lifted his chin and suddenly Bruce was looking six years in the past.  _ Get on board or get out of the way. _ Batman hadn’t won that fight. He wouldn’t win this one. 

“Out of the room. We will be discussing this afterwards.” He exchanged glares with Conner, the teen obviously struggling with how to handle the situation. 

“Fine,” Conner snarled, “but if you hurt him I’ll make you eat those fancy doors.” He stomped across the room, slamming said fancy doors behind him. Bruce had little doubt that none of this conversation was going to be private. 

“Hey, Tim,” Bruce whispered, shifting his grip and pulling Tim fully into his lap. “I’m not going to throw you out. You’ll always be welcome here.”

Tim’s breath hitched. “You saw the photos.” Tim’s voice cracked on the last word. 

“I did.” There was no point in lying. 

“So you know.” What was going through Tim’s head. He sounded like a man marching to his own death. 

“Know what?” Bruce asked gently. Ask questions, don’t make assumptions, and for God’s sake don’t push. 

Tim started to shudder, his hands spasming around where he’d grabbed Bruce. “That I’m a fag.”

“No! You aren’t, Tim.” The word was out of Bruce’s mouth before he realized what it sounded like.    
  
Tim shook his head. “I am.” He started to sob.

Where was Dick? Dick was good at this! “You’re gay!” Bruce blurted. “That’s not!” Calm Bruce. Be calm. There was no one else to help him handle this so he needed to not fuck up again. “You’re gay, Tim. And that’s okay. That’s fine, sweetie.” There. Those were good words for this situation. “I’m not upset,” at you, but Clark had another thing coming. “Does Conner make you happy?”

Tim’s sobs slowed and the boy nodded into Bruce’s neck. “You’re very cute together,” Bruce rubbed Tim’s scalp. The boy was inordinately fond of that. “And I’m glad you found somebody.”

“I kept it a secret,” Tim whispered.    
  
That was a punch in the gut and he couldn’t even blame other Bruce for it. He’d fucked that up all on his own. “You are allowed to have secrets, Tim.” Dinah had verbally beaten that into his head. She could wreak as much havoc with words as she could with her cry. “Now why don’t we go get you cleaned up.” Bruce helped Tim stand, practically lifting the boy to his feet. 

“I wrecked your shirt!” Tim’s eyes were wide and horrified. 

Bruce rolled his in an attempt to inject some levity into the situation. “As a billionaire, I am fairly sure that there is a washing machine somewhere on the premise. Or another shirt. Now go, take a bath or a shower. Which ever will make you feel better, okay Champ?”

“Conner…,” Tim looked at the door, biting his lip.

“Will be fine. I’m just going to have a quick chat with him. I promise he’ll still be here when you get out of the tub, okay?”

Tim didn’t look convinced as he left the room and Conner entered it like a soldier awaiting discipline and prepared to fight on all charges. “Sir,” he said, his voice still filled with anger. 

“Conner,” Bruce said, having adjusted himself so he was partially sitting on his desk. “First and foremost, you’re aware of my real identity.” Conner gave a sharp nod and Bruce sighed. He’d assumed the boy had figured it out during his stay in the alternate universe but Conner had never approached him about it. “You know the importance of it remaining a secret.”

Conner scowled at Bruce. “Yeah, I get it.” Bruce nodded, accepting his word. Conner was a senior member of the Team and could be trusted to be discreet to a fault, given the stunt he’d pulled with the Light. 

“I assume you were given shovel speeches when you started dating M’gann.” Conner nodded, his anger morphing into wariness. “I am not going to give you a shovel speech.”

Conner took a threatening step forward. “You can’t stop us.”   
  
“And I’m not trying to.” That was Batman again, but it had the intended effect and Conner stood down. Bruce concentrated on remaining Bruce for this conversation. He loathed heart-to-hearts with acquaintances. This was definitely Clark’s fault. “I approve. You’re a good pair. 

“The reason I am not giving you a shovel speech is because they are inherently sexist and it would assume that Tim could not fight his own battles. You and I both know he is very capable of taking you down if he ever needed to.” Conner nodded and looked, dare Bruce say it, pleased? “What I am here to say is that your relationship with Tim will be difficult.” Conner narrowed his gaze intently, reminding Bruce of Cass the first time she’d really laid eyes on him. Studying in cautious disbelief. “And I will support you in every way I can.”

“We don’t need your help.” It looked like Clark’s pride wasn’t just a Kent thing after all. 

“You do,” Bruce said factually. “You’re both young and Tim is a survivor of multiple traumas. He’s going to hurt you. There will be times when he pulls away inexplicably and times when he lashes out for no discernable reason. There will be times where you say something innocent and he shatters. When, not if, that happens I expect you to come to me and I will help you resolve the issue. 

“You might not make it. Your relationship will have more obstacles than most, both due to your individual circumstances and it being homosexual. But I will give you my continued assistance.”

Conner looked at Bruce with the same expression he’d had the first time he’d ever seen Superman, before that idiot had gone and ruined it. Batman was never regarded with open awe and it made Bruce twitch. He hadn’t expected this. 

Bruce looked away first. “Sooo,” he said stiffly. “I need to text Alfred to come clean that up.” He gave an awkward wave at the sick Tim had left on the floor. It was like it had been waiting to be acknowledged and a sour scent filled Bruce’s nostrils. “I also need to change my shirt.” He’d probably just toss this one. “Alfred can show you somewhere you can wait more comfortably while Tim showers.

Conner shuffled his feet, looking off to the side as his hand rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d rather wait outside the door. Tim...”

“Tim what?” Bruce asked protectively. He felt his face harden into Batman’s glare, but instead of cowing away Conner seemed to inflate like a bird ruffling its feathers before lashing out with deadly claws. 

“He cries in the shower. When he’s upset. And he’s upset. So I’m going to wait by the door.”

Batman didn’t slide from his face because Bruce couldn’t let Conner see what he was thinking. It made a disgusting amount of sense that he would have to emotionally process somewhere in private and Bruce’s doppelganger was a controlling bastard. “He’s crying now, isn’t he?” Conner gave a small nod and Bruce wished for his cowl so he could close his eyes in grief. 

Had Tim been doing this the entire time he stayed at this house? Or had he felt safe enough to share his emotions until Bruce had pushed? He didn’t know which answer was more heartbreaking, but in the end it didn’t matter because he couldn’t fix it. It wasn’t like he could barge into the shower and gather Tim into his arms until he was out of tears. 

Time. Time, patience, and no more of Bruce fucking this up. He could do this. 

“Tim’s suite is on the way to my room. Do not enter the room unless explicitly invited in. I will know if you do.”   
  
“Yessir.” Conner didn’t sound at all worried about the threat in Bruce’s voice. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Something was happening. While it was not out of the ordinary for Father to work in his study at Pennyworth’s behest, it was unheard of for a virtual stranger to  _ barge _ into the Manor and ignore Pennyworth’s direction. Had Pennyworth not known the man’s name Dami would have separated the intruder from his liver. Instead he had turned up the volume on the security feed, listening in to whatever this peasant thought was worth interrupting his Father’s day. 

He had been cryptic with his photos, speaking vaguely to Father. Dami could see the moment those images became important to Father but the stiffness of his spine quickly faded away into amusement. While the stranger still seethed, Father was… cooing… at the images. 

Then Timothy had returned with the Clone, and had appeared violently upset. Had Father not been there to comfort Timothy immediately, Dami would have rushed to the office. Even then it was tempting. Something had happened between Father, Timothy and Grayson, though Dami had no details on what had transpired he could read the residual tension. Father and Timothy seemed to be settling but Grayson was most displeased. Cass had taken his side but would not explain to Dami why there was a rift. At first Dami had thought that Father was furious for the same reason Dami had been, but the anger came from Grayson’s side and it was Father who was trying to make amends. 

So Dami watched instead, trying to understand what exactly was happening. Given the stranger -Clark was the name Father had uttered- wore a look of satisfaction and the Clone looked disturbed, Dami assumed that the Clone’s undue interest in his brother had been discovered. 

Finally. 

But Father’s rage was directed towards the man, not the Clone. His words towards Timothy were of love and reassurance,  _ as they should be _ , but so was his speech towards the Clone. Father  _ supported  _ the Clone’s claim, ignoring the fact that he had neither wooed nor courted Timothy the way Dami’s brother deserved. Instead he had blustered in and made Timothy his without proving he was worthy of that honor. It was an affront to the name of Wayne and one Dami would not let stand. 

Dami practically hissed when he saw Father lead the Clone to the doors of Timothy’s abode and had the Clone made any attempt to enter the rooms, Dami would have made sure he did not leave the house alive.

As it was, a scar or two were in order. 

Luckily, Dami knew that Father had left Pennyworth to clean up the filth in the office. Dami intercepted him as Pennyworth tucked the mop away. 

“I,” the boy said imperiously, “am in need of a sword.”   
  


“Of course you are, Master Dami,” Pennyworth said with an aggrieved sigh. “However, now is not the time for me to provide you with one.”   
  
Dami hissed in displeasure. Despite having the status of servant, Pennyworth held much of the power in Father’s house. He was not to be crossed, as Father supported his position, but he could often be reasoned with. “The clone is engaging in carnal affairs with Timothy. It is imperative that he is brought to heel like a cur and Father has proven himself to not be up for the task. As the blood son, my intervention is necessary.”

Pennyworth jerked. It was jarring for Dami to witness because he’d never seen the man move with anything less than grace. “Master Timothy is dating Conner Kent?”

Dami’s eyes narrowed. “You also do not approve,” he said with delight. Finally he had found an ally.

Pennyworth’s face took on a bored expression. “My opinion is my own, Master Dami, and not for your consumption. I will not be providing you a sword at this time.”

Curses. 

“But,” Pennyworth added sharply, “if it is any consolation I will be speaking to Master Bruce on the matter.”

Excellent. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim emerged from the shower feeling like a cloth that had been twisted to the point of tearing to wring out all the water. His hands shook as he slid into one of Jay’s t-shirts. Despite being only months apart, Jay’s shoulders were miles longer than Tim’s so it was comfortably oversized. It made Tim feel like he was donning armor so he pulled on a pair of Dick’s jeans, rolling up the cuffs and cinching the belt, where he tucked a small blade Dami had provided him with. 

Feeling more in control than he had since Clark had first opened his mouth, Timothy went to his door, placing his palm on the smooth, copper handle. 

Bruce had promised that he wasn’t throwing Conner out but that didn’t necessarily mean anything good. Yes, Bruce might be entertaining him in the media room or the kitchen, or he might be glaring Conner down in the Batcave. 

Bruce had  _ said _ he was okay with Tim being gay, but he thought Tim was gay gay, not whatever he actually was. Maybe he really was. Maybe he really didn’t care. Maybe he was just saying things that were designed to make Tim feel better. It was impossible to tell at this point and Tim would need further information before he could decide how much this revelation had altered his and Bruce’s relationship. 

Even if the changes were minimal, he might not approve of Tim being in a relationship with Conner. As far as Tim could tell Bruce had no personal issues with the Kryptonian. He said that he was an upstanding member of the Team, but maybe that would be the problem. Conner was in the cape game and Tim was benched until he was twenty-one or could convince Bruce to let him play again. 

What if Bruce thought that dating Conner brought him too close to the scene? What if he was worried in a shift in Team dynamic? There was no way it wouldn’t happen, given the weirdness with M’gann that everyone was pretending to ignore. 

The only way to know any of this was to walk through the door.

He twisted the nob and pulled. 

There, standing right outside, was Conner. Tim could feel the tears he thought he’d completely cried out gather at the corner of his eyes. He leaned forward, grabbing Conner’s shirt and rested his head against Conner’s neck. It took very little stretching for Conner to tuck Tim’s head under his chin. “It’s okay,” the Kryptonian soothed. “This is turning out okay.”

“How badly did he threaten you?” Tim asked, dreading the answer. 

“He...didn’t?” Conner said, sounding surprised. “I mean, being Batman is a threat in and of itself, but he didn’t actually use any words. He said he had our backs.”

Tim took a deep breath, inhaling the scent on Conner. “Okay.” Maybe it would be okay. 

Maybe it wouldn’t. 

Tim pulled back a little. “We probably shouldn’t do this in the hallway.” Dami had enough issues with Conner being a clone. There was no need to antagonize him any further. Tim took a step back into the bedroom ensuite.

Conner made no move to follow. 

Tim tilted his head. “Conner?”   
  


“You have to invite me in,” the Kryptonian mumbled. 

Tim snorted. “Did you turn into a vampire while I was in the shower?”

“Batman heavily implied that entering your room without your explicit permission would not end well for me.”

Tim frowned. “I thought you said he didn’t threaten you.” He reached out for Conner’s hand. 

Conner furrowed his brow. “I also said he was Batman.”

Tim gave a small laugh. “I, Timothy Wayne, do invite Conner Kent into my room.” He gave a slight tug and Conner crossed over the threshold. Conner came with no resistance and Tim felt a small thrill shoot up his spine. Conner’s eyes were focused on Tim’s to the exclusion of all else in the room.

“I’ve penetrated your base,” Conner said breathily, taking a step closer to Tim. “How do you plan to defeat me now?”

“Crib.”

Both boys jumped apart, Conner stumbling back while Tim clutched at his heart. “Oh my god, Cass,” Tim gasped out. “Make noise!” Why was she even in his room?

She didn’t look the slightest bit guilty. Instead she held out the wooden crib board in front of her. “Crib,” she demanded again, “the three of us. We play.”

Conner blinked at Cass and then at the board. “I don’t know how.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’ll learn.” She glided over to the sofa and set the board down on the coffee table where a deck of cards already lay. As the three of them sunk to the floor around the board, Cass pointed a finger at Tim. “No cheating.”

“I would never!”

Cass scoffed. “You play with Dick and Jay. I watch. No cheating.”

Conner snorted. “You really cheat at cards?”

Tim didn’t answer, instead watch as Cass gracefully gracefully shuffled the cards, making them look like they were dancing in her hands. “Cass?” he asked, “what’s going on?” Why was she in his room? Why were they playing cards? With Conner? Right now?

Cass clicked her tongue, as though Tim was missing something obvious. “Family plays cards together.” Her eyes flicked to Conner who still looked confused.

Tim would explain later, what this meant. For now he just focused on the joy and utter relief that came with knowing that they had Cass’s blessing. 

She swatted him. “Being stupid,” she chastised. He was. He should never have doubted her. “Now I deal. I want the crib.”

Conner looked between them and frowned. “Seriously, guys. You need to explain the rules. I have no idea how to play.”

Cass just shrugged. “Good. Then you will lose worse than me.”

Tim threw his head back and laughed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really close to getting this done, and then I figured stuff out and got closer until I said Fuck It and now it's finished. Other chapters Will Not be updated this quickly. 
> 
> A lot of people are going WTF Superman so I'm gonna say 2 things. 
> 
> 1\. This is specifically Young Justice cartoon Superman. If you haven't see the show, all you need to know is that he's an absolute jerk where Conner is concerned. 
> 
> 2\. Trust me. We've made it this far and I'm not going to stop doing what I do now. 
> 
> Stay safe everyone! I know I will be.
> 
> Also, we have a discord if you wanna chill
> 
> https://discord.gg/u8Zq6TN


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even a small stone in a pond causes ripples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back to work. New job is exhausting but its also good to be doing something. It's nice to have a schedule. 
> 
> SO IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T REALIZED YET, we're gonna get into some LGTBQ+ issues.

Something was Up. Jay didn’t have to have been raised by the World’s Greatest Detective to tell when something stank. Gotham wasn’t the type of place that had any mercy, and street kids died if they couldn’t read the scene, either by getting caught sleeping in a crime lord’s newest project, getting caught in gang crossfire, or simply being there when a Rogue decided to do whatever demented thing suited their fancy at the time. 

So yeah, Jay could read the signs and they all point at something being amiss. 

Jay’s shower had been quick enough that there was still a bit of mud under his fingernails. It was a force of habit, some deeply ingrained part of him warning him not to waste the water in case he needed it for something important, like drinking. That and he hated being naked in a room of other people. Sure, there were stainless steel stalls and stuff but Jay knew how easy it would be to unlatch one of these babies. Or simply kick it in. 

So, short shower. 

He was outta the bathroom quick, not even bothering to dry his hair. For all the shit he’d given Conner, a pre-pizza snack was a great idea especially since it was always Dick who ordered and, as far as Jay was aware, that coward was still hiding in the vents. Which meant who knows how long it was going to be before there was any pizza to be eaten. 

He’d expected Tim and Conner to still be lingering in the kitchen, or to have moved over to the tv. It was an open concept space so any of those places would have left them visible when Dick finally did show up to take orders. The pizza Tim liked was weird and god awful, and they only ever ordered it when Conner promised he’d help eat the damn thing. 

So the fact that the pair of them had vanished was strange. 

“The hell…?” he muttered, craning his neck to see if maybe they were just sitting oddly, like laying on the couch or resting on the floor. Those two were giant weirdos and sometimes did weird shit cause it was weird. 

Dick fell from the vent in a flip and a cloud of dust and Jay cursed at him. “If I have to take another shower because of your dumbass you and me are gonna have a problem.”

Dick looked serious in a way that he never did when Jay threatened him. “You need to go to the Manor.” It was an order and Jay couldn’t tell if it was coming from Nightwing or Big Brother Dick. Either way it wasn’t the type of one you fought.

Jay narrowed his eyes. He didn’t  _ like _ orders. “Why?”

“Something’s wrong,” Dick said flatly. “Superman barged in here and pulled Tim and Conner into the War Room. He left looking pissed and Tim and Conner followed him, both looking freaked out. They zetad out of here real quick after that. I would have followed them but,” Dick used a gesture to highlight the mess he was, “I’m pretty conspicuous right now. You always shower quickly so I figured it would be best to give you a head start. I’ll clean up and follow.”

“Capes?” Jay asked. He was outta the game. He wanted to stay outta the game. Maybe years down the road things would change, but right now the Robin costume still smelled of blood and smoke. But if his family was down all bets were off. He might not run rooftops but he hadn’t stopped training with B. Gotham wasn’t about to become any safer just because Jay had pulled back. 

He could still bash in skulls.

Dick shook his head. “Tim and Conner left in civies. I don’t know what their destination was but B is going to kill Superman for dragging Tim into anything if he’s doing this behind his back.” 

Yeah, he really would. Dick said that they used to be close, to be the best of friends, but something had happened to make them on-again off-again. Jay was pretty sure that right now they were tight and whatever was going on was definitely going to lead them to another fracture. 

No one fucked with Tim. 

Jay gave a dark nod. “I’m on it. Get clean quick.” With that he set off with a light jog, ignoring Kaldur’s concerned question as Jay ran past. As soon as he was through the zeta he pulled off his shades, tucking them on the collar of his shirt. It wasn’t the safest place, but they’d either stay or they wouldn’t and Jay wasn’t feeling particularly materialistic at the moment. 

He raced to his bike, parked a few blocks away so no one started investigating why people kept leaving their vehicles in an alley that promised they wouldn’t be there when the drivers got back. Tactically, it made sense, but at the moment Jay was internally blustering at the need. It took him far too long to slam on his helmet and shift into gear.

It took him even longer to drive home. When he was in a hurry it always felt like the Manor was farther from Gotham than it was. 

He skidded the bike to a halt, tearing up the grass by the front door. Alfred was going to kill him, but that was a problem for future Jay. Or possibly future Superman, depending what the fuck was going on. He took three steps into the Manor before realizing that he had no idea which rooms Bruce was. It would be faster to text the man than to search every room. Jay pulled out his phone and felt his eyes widen. 

Two things had just become evident. One, Dick was an idiot and two, Jay was also an idiot. 

Why hadn’t they just texted Bruce in the first place? Well, too fucking late now. He typed into his phone  _ Which room u in? _

It took a few moments for Bruce to fire back a picture of the cave and Jay was off to the study. 

“No running in the house,” called Alfred as Jay blew past him. 

“Sorry!” Jay yelled, not sorry at all. 

When he made it to the Cave, the shadows seemed darker. Not black black, but darker than that. The shade that the asshole artist had invented that made it appear as though there was a void in the universe. What was it? Vanta black. 

Jay had expected Bruce to be in the Batsuit but instead he was in a t-shirt and jeans sitting in front of the Batcomputer. He looked to be flipping through blueprints, but he closed the screen before Jay got a sense of what they were for. The man swivelled and Jay could tell by the set of Bruce’s jaw that he was pissed. Like, both Bruce and Batman were pissed. 

Either he already knew about Superman or Jay was about to make a bad day even worse. 

“Superman’s got Tim involved in something!” Jay reported in his Robin voice. He was outta the game but it didn’t change that he’d been molded by it, and when Batman was pissed Robin got professional. 

“Are you aware of specifics?” The voice was deeper, raspier, and full of rolling fury. Yup. Angry Batman. 

Jay shook his head. “No.”

“Good,” Batman said. 

“But-” Jay protested. No one fucked with Tim. B fucking  _ knew _ that! Dick had nearly tossed Bruce from his own house over whatever had set off Tim and B’s fight. Things seemed better now but if B fucked up again Jay might just help Dick. 

“I’m aware of the problem in full,” Batman snapped, “and I  _ will _ be dealing with Superman.” The shadows wrapped around Batman, darkening with his expression. “As far as you are concerned both Tim and Superboy are safe in the Manor and you are  _ not _ to ask for any details. If, and only if, they choose to volunteer information will you be read into the situation.” He turned back to the screen, dismissing Jay. 

Well, that was a short conversation. And unsatisfying, but at least Tim was here and, according to Batman, safe. But sometimes by safe all Batman meant was not physically injured, so Jay was going to see for himself. Bruce tried, but he could be emotionally dense. 

He fired off a text to Dick first.  _ B says Tim and SB safe. At Manor. Will confirm visual asap. _

The second he fired off to Tim.  _ Hey loser. Where you at? :P  _

Tim’s response came back first.  _ Manor.  _

“Jesus fucking christ kid.”  _ That’s like saying you're in Gotham. Where, specifically, are you at? _

_ (◔_◔) My suite. Sitting room. Playing crib with Cass and Conner. _

Tim and his stupid fancy emoticons.  _ Winning?  _ Jay text as he wound his way through, looking for a set of stairs. 

_ Losing. Ю＼(•̀_•́＼). Cadmus programmed Conner with advanced math. _

Jay snorted as he ascended, the bannister railing smooth under his hands.  _ That’s what you get for cheating.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ You cheat too! _ Tim fired back. 

Well duh. It would practically be a crime if Jay didn’t cheat.  _ I’ll stop when Dick figures it out.  _

_ Gotta go. My crib.  _

_ Have fun losing. Loser. _

_ ┌П┐(▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿) _ _   
_ _   
_ Jay laughed. He wasn’t feeling relaxed, exactly, Tim could flash what looked like a sincere smile while bleeding to death, but having Conner and Cass surrounding Tim wasn’t as good as having Dick and Jay there. Not that Cass couldn’t fight. She was pretty kick ass and Jay was certain that she had never really let loose when she sparred with him. She was also really really good with Tim. Jay had never seen her make Tim flinch.

It was just, she didn’t exactly have the best way with words and Jay could see her get pissed when she had something important to say and she just couldn’t get everything out in a way other people understood. 

Jay got that. He really did. The fancy society people had treated him like he was stupid because he had a Park Row twang and the slang to match. It had incensed him. On more than one occasion he’d resorted to using his fists to make his point. Cass hadn’t done so, yet, but Jay had no doubt that would change if someone was dicking with Tim and didn’t understand when she told them to back off and that probably wasn’t what Tim needed right now. 

Jay knocked on the door, waiting to be let in. He was a little surprised that it was Conner who answered until he spotted Tim and Cass glaring daggers at each other, like two cats with a fish between them. Neither looked up when Jay entered the room. 

“They been at that for long?” Jay asked, discreetly sweeping his eyes over Conner and Tim. While Conner simply didn’t get hurt he did get ruffled but there were no tears in his clothes and he hadn’t lost his shirt, so those were all good signs. It didn’t help Jay figure out what the fuck was going on but it reassured him that no one was activily dying. 

Conner shrugged. “They’re trying to team up to beat me but apparently Cass tossed bad cards into Tim’s crib.”

Jay’s phone let out the wail of a siren and he swiped it open to find a text from Dick.

_ En route. B’s status? _

Jay snorted.  _ He’s super pissed and plotting in the basement. Tim’s fine, playing cards with Cass and Conner. Still don’t know what’s up and been ordered not to ask.  _

_ Food?  _ Came the immediate response. Dick must have taken the time to bluetooth his phone to the car.  _   
_ _   
_ _ Food.  _ Now that the word had been mentioned Jay realized that he was absolutely ravenous. The mud run had burned up a lot of calories and his lunch, a burger from a food truck, was hours ago. 

Dick sent a thumbs up and Jay plopped himself on the fabric couch. Cass and Tim were still glaring at each other where they sat on the carpet, so Jay took a moment to study the game. He let out a low whistle. 

“You’re gonna get skunked,” he sang. Conner had about a third of the board over Tim. 

“I know,” Tim moaned, finally looking away from Cass. “We need to find another game.”

Conner walked back over and took a seat across from Tim. “I’m up for anything,” He shrugged and stretched out a leg and looking super casual about the fact that he was destroying Tim at crib. “After all, CADMUS programmed me to win.”

Tim sent Conner a withering glare. “This might end our friendship,” Tim threatened. 

The statement sent Cass off, making the girl laugh so hard she fell over, clutching her sides. Conner raised his eyebrows and Tim flushed. 

Jay didn’t get it. The joke hadn’t been that funny. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dick needed a third arm. He had two bags that held over a dozen burritos and an arrangement of milkshake flavors. He’d also panic bought an entire frosted cake decorated with ‘Happy Aniversary’ that they’d need to eat promptly to hide from Alfred. 

At least they wouldn’t be wasting the butler’s work. Alfred had thought that it would only be Dami and Bruce tonight and it was late enough that he would have already started preparing the evening meal. 

But that didn’t change that even as a hero and a world class acrobat, Dick Grayson only had two arms. “Darn,” he looked down at the food piled into his passenger seat. The stack was almost tall enough to be a person. He should really call Jay and ask for help but he didn’t want to lose having eyes on Tim in real time. 

Luckily, the problem resolved itself. 

“Grayson!” barked Dami, storming into the garage. “I am in need of a sword.”

“Hey, Dami! Come help me with this.” Dick waved his littlest brother over. 

Dami sidled closer suspiciously. Eying the pile, he sniffed. “I will aid you only if you provide me with a suitable weapon.”

“I have cake,” Dick counter offered.

Dami’s eyes lit up and an actual childish expression flitted across his face before once again being buried under his imperious demeanor. “I will not be swayed with a confectionary. I am on a mission to restore the besmirched honor of the Wayne family and if you shall not aid me then at the very least you shall not distract me.”

“Oh?” Dick said, trying to keep his expression serious when all he wanted to do was fawn over how adorable Dami was when he was on a mission. “And how had the Wayne family name become tarnished?”

“That Clone,” oh crap it was about Conner. Wasn’t Bruce supposed to talk to Dami about that? “Has become Timothy’s  _ paramour, _ ” Dami spat the word as though it was poison on his tongue, “as though he has any right to Timothy. He is not suitable to even breathe the same air as Timothy and I shall not let this pass unpunished.”

It was a little creepy that Dami was invested in Tim’s dating life, but Dick figured it was probably a League thing. Dick patted Dami’s hair as he rolled his eyes. “While I’m glad you love Tim so much, he and Conner aren’t dating so you don’t need to go stab him, okay?”

Dami batted Dick’s hand away hard enough that it stung. “You think me a fool? Father’s contact provided him with photographic evidence of the Clone’s wanton behavior. I will slice off his hands for having violated Timothy so!” Pictures? What?

“Contact?” Dick asked carefully, starting to treat Dami like a hostile witness.

The boy huffed. “The one named Clark. He ignored Pennyworth and accosted Father in his study.”

Dick crouched down so he could meet Dami’s gaze. “And he had pictures?”

Dami gave a sharp nod. “As I have said.”

“Okay.” This could easily just be a misunderstanding. Dami was prone to making assumptions, especially where Tim’s wellbeing was concerned. “Did you see the photos?” Dami shook his head. “Did Clark or Bruce describe the photos?”

“No,” Dami glared, catching on to Dick. “It was unnecessary for Timothy and the Clone arrived and confirmed my suspicions. But instead of banishing the Clone, Father  _ welcomed  _ him into the household.” Dami’s voice dripped with disgust. 

Crap. Crapity crap crap crap. Okay. Damage control. Start with Dami. “Dami,” he put his hands on Dami’s shoulders and gave the boy a light shake, “there is nothing wrong with Tim’s relationship with Conner. Homosexuality is just as natural as-”

“Why would I care about that?” Dami asked wildly, pulling out of Dick’s grip.

Dick kept his breathing even and tried again. “Is this about Conner being a clone?” Dami scoffed like Dick was the one being difficult.

Be calm. Be cool. Dick was the eldest. He could handle this. 

“Okay,” He held his hands up in surrender. “Then I don’t understand why you’re upset. Can you please explain?” 

“The Clone did not earn the right!” Earn the right? Oh man, this was definitely a League thing. “He has not proven that he can best any of the family in combat and therefore is unworthy of being Timothy’s partner. Alternatively, he had no wealth. No properties, gold, or even contacts. He is a weight around Timothy’s neck that brings nothing to their relationship and will bring ruin to our house.” Yes. That would be how the League viewed romance. Dick should have anticipated this. 

“Dami, the Wayne family believes the most important part of a pairing is the happiness it generates.” Dami raised his eyes skeptically. “What’s more important to you? That Tim can fight well or that he’s happy?”

“Being able to fight well makes him happy!” Dami protested and Dick shook his head. 

“No, Dami. No trying to slide out of this. Would you rather see him strong but angry all the time, or would you prefer him to see him weak but happy? Really happy?” 

“How weak?” Dami asked suspiciously. 

“Regular civilian.” Dami looked off to the side and mumbled something. “Speak up.”

“Happy,” Dami grumbled. 

“Me too,” Dick gave his best big brother smile. “Since Conner makes Tim happy we’re going to leave them alone and just let them be happy, okay?”

Dami turned his head to look Dick in the eye again. “If the Clone makes Timothy unhappy I will make the rest of his short life unpleasant.” 

“Agreed.” Now they were getting into true Wayne family values. It was a perfect moment to bring up Dick’s second concern. “The other thing is you need to keep this a secret.”

“Why?” Dami’s face was a study of innocent confusion.

Dick sighed. “Not everyone is going to be happy about Conner and Tim being together.”

“I’m not happy about them being together,” Dami crossed his arms. 

Dick stood, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about it being them, it’s... “ Dick drew in a deep breath. Why wasn’t Bruce here to parent his own kid? “Not everyone accepts the idea that two men can love each other.”

“Why?” Dami tilted his head, looking like a confused baby bird and if the moment weren’t so serious Dick would have pulled out his phone to go for a picture. Sometimes Dami was slow enough for Dick to snap one.

“A lot of reasons, none of them good.” Dick slipped his hands into his pockets. “And sometimes people lash out. If you go around telling everyone you put Tim at risk of being hurt.”

Dami’s eyes widened before they narrowed. He let out a protective growl. “I will end them before they can cause Timothy any harm!”   
  


“Look, Dami.” Dick set his hand on Dami’s shoulder. “I know you love Tim, but you can’t fight all his battles. There are times you aren’t around. But what you can do instead is keep his secrets, and that is both harder and more important. Do you understand?”

Dami’s eyes traced over Dick’s face before the boy gave a serious nod, his eyes ancient. Dick couldn’t help but wonder what they’d seen, what horrors Dami had endured before Bruce had found him. “I will guard this knowledge with my life.”

Dick gave Dami’s shoulder a firm pat. “That’s the spirit!” Dick stood, stretching all the way up until he felt his spine pop. He swung his arm to stretch it out. “Now, I still need help carrying all of this.”

“I suppose I could be convinced to aid you, for a fee.”   
  
Dick chuckled. “Yes, you’ll still get cake.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-   
  


People knew. Tim was trying very hard to keep that thought swallowed into the darkest recess of his mind, but it lurked near the surface like an alligator waiting to lunge. 

People knew about him and Conner. Cass knew. Bruce knew.  _ Clark _ knew. 

Tim wasn’t positive, but he thought that Dick might know too. He was just too much himself; smiling too bright, laughing too hard, and mangling the English language with a little extra flare. If Dick did know though he was careful not to study Tim or Conner, or to let his façade drop for even a moment. 

Thank fucking god that Dami didn’t know. The kid had enough problems with Conner and if he’d even suspected that Tim and Conner were close the kid would take it as some kind of threat, either to he and Dami’s relationship or to Tim’s honor -it was always hard to tell which way stuff like that would go-, and Conner would never be able to sleep safely again. 

In fact it looked like Bruce had  _ finally _ gotten around to the Clones equal Real People speech because Dami was actually making an effort to be  _ nice _ to Conner. Or, well, at least less mean. For him. 

Still marked improvement. 

So people knew and that thought grew sharper as everyone filtered out of the room. It was practically gnawing at Tim’s brain when he escorted Conner to the Manor door, to the foyer where there were cameras that saw everything, that were probably being monitored right now. 

People knew. 

“Tim?” He flinched, pulling his eyes away from where he knew a hidden camera rested to look at Conner’s pinched face. 

“Sorry!” Tim said, offering Conner a wan smile. “Have a safe trip back to the mountain, okay?”

“Yeah. You too. I mean,” Conner awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, “sleep well.” He reached for Tim. 

Tim took a step backwards. 

Oh god. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He looked up at Conner, the Kryptonian’s face pain etched in flesh. “I didn’t mean to.” Tim drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” Concentrate on breathing. Don’t cry.

Conner pulled his hand back, staring at it as though it was the source of betrayal before deliberately bringing it to his side. He cast his eyes around the room, looking at where Tim had been looking, and sighed.

“Whatever,” he huffed. “Goodnight,” he stepped out of the door, closing it behind him. The sound echoed throughout the room.

Fuck. What the fuck had Tim just done? Oh fuck. He needed to- He needed-!

His phone chirped, the sound of a dolphin cutting through his rising panic. That was Conner’s ringtone. Was he ending it? Because Tim had fucked up? 

Biting his lip hard enough to bleed, Tim flipped open the phone. 

_ Virtual hug  _ (つ≧▽≦)つ⊂(・ヮ・⊂)  _ Now stop worrying. We’re fine.  _

Tim smiled down at the message before closing his phone and clutching it close to his heart, as though it could hold back the thoughts in his head. But now everybody knew. 

Tim and Conner were no longer doing a whatever. 

Tim and Conner were dating.

Were gay. 

Tim tried to push past the terror that came with that realization, but there wasn’t anything to be done when his own mind was the enemy. 

People knowing made this real in a way Tim had not been Prepared For. 

He stumbled and staggered his way through the halls at an unsteady jog, making it to his room unaccosted. He managed to not slam into any of the furniture in his ensuite before he threw open the door to his room. Tripping on a pair of jeans, he landed on a pile of laundry, in a mess of space that Janet would not have approved of.    
  
Had she seen his room she would have stood behind him as he gathered anything on the floor and stuffed it in a box to give to children who appreciated possessions. 

She wasn’t here. She would never be here so Tim curled into the pile of shirts he’d landed on, of varying degrees of cleanliness, and clutched at his own hair, pulling at it until it hurt. 

Tim was gay. He was one of  _ those _ people. 

But Tim didn’t have a problem with the LGTBQ+ community even though he’d never been to a Pride festival. Gotham didn’t have one. By the time he was old enough to travel his face had been posted on too many magazines and there was no way that he would have been able to watch without setting the news industry alight. But he’d made Wayne Enterprise donate to outreach programs. A lot of the kids in the Neon Knights were at-risk because they’d been thrown out for being queer. 

So Tim helped. Because he didn’t have a problem with the LGTBQ+ community. 

But he was  _ never _ supposed to be part of it. 

Tim left out a sob, burying his face into a hoodie to strangle the sound. Tim Drake was supposed to do the Drake family proud by settling down with a girl of good breeding and producing another heir, as all good scions of the Drake family were supposed to do. There was the expectation that he’d produce more than one grandchild for Janet to mold despite the fact that Tim was an only child. Janet had thought that the expense of a second surrogacy was not worth the end results. 

She hadn’t paid for a defective son. 

But here he was. And everybody knew. There would be whispers wherever he went, eyes watching him at galas. Behind closed doors people talk behind their hands.  _ Did you hear about that Drake boy? Keep your sons away from him. _

Tim wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t strong enough. And what would Bruce think? He said it was okay, but Bruce was impulsive. Tim knew that. He  _ knew _ that! And okay wasn’t an all or nothing. There were shades of okay. Was Bruce okay because he didn’t want to see Tim upset, or did it honestly not bother him in the least?

He took a deep breath, ignoring the taste of fabric he inhaled from the sweater, the scratchy burn of cotton. Bruce cared for him. He had Tim’s best interests at heart. Tim knew that. He needed to count on that! He could! 

But what about the rest of the family? What about Dick? Jay? Dami was raised by the League of Assassins. Did Ra’s tolerate that kind of weakness within his ranks?    
  
And when the Team found out? 

No, he wasn’t ready for people to know. Tim had a plan, he always had a plan and right now he had no idea what he was supposed to do. 

Dexter jumped onto Tim’s hips, walking his way up to Tim’s shoulder to give the boy’s earlobe a lick. The cat gave a soft cry, looking for acknowledgement.

_ Have an exit planned, _ Janet hissed in the back of his mind. 

Exit, exit. What could Tim do to get out of this? He couldn’t erase everyone’s mind.

Break up with Conner. Say it was a phase. An experiment. It happened because he was stressed and it was unhealthy.    
  
Say it wasn’t real.

That would work. Bruce would hug him and say that it had been okay, that it was a good learning experience and it was good that Tim knew this about himself. Dick and Jay would rib him while trying to hook him up with some blonde they knew from wherever. Everything would carry on as though nothing had happened. 

And Tim would be alone.    
  
Without Conner.

Unacceptable. 

_ If and only if _ Janet had told Tim as a child,  _ you can’t salvage a situation, destroy those who placed you there. Teach the world you will not be crossed.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Tim let go of the hoodie, stretching his body out and rolling onto his back. As soon as Tim had stilled Dexter jumped onto Tim’s chest, purring when Tim started to pet him. Tim could feel the vibrations deep in lungs.

Superman had made an enemy today. Tim would make Clark’s little games with Lex look like a playground squabble. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that. As always, I have a discord. Such benefits include having me nag at you to read the upcoming chapter for advice or just so I can say I hate it and write it again. 
> 
> It's a fun ti~ime. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/u8Zq6TN


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything shifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day off, another chapter done.

Dick didn’t know everything that had happened between Tim and Dick Number Two. Tim didn’t like to show the world where he hurt, too used to having people gloss over it or worse, chisel away to make a bigger crack. But from what Dick had been able to piece together, from fevered ramblings, panic attacks and the occasional cry session, Dick Number Two had broken Tim’s trust and therefore his heart.

Dick had sworn to do better. He’d sworn it to himself, to Tim, and to the universe. 

He knew. There was no getting around the fact that Dick knew about Tim and Conner. He wished he didn’t. He knew enough to know that coming out was sacred. It was supposed to happen at the person’s own pace, with people they chose.

  
  
Superman had taken that from Tim and from Conner, and Dick didn’t know if he’d ever forgive him, if it was even his place to try. 

But that wasn’t what Dick needed to be focusing on right now. Conner was a good teammate and a better friend. Dick had literally known him since Conner was born and he wasn’t going to make him deal with whatever feelings he was going through alone. While Conner had come a long way, there were still times where he couldn’t express himself and M’gann was no longer there to act as a bridge. Dick would ensure that Conner knew Dick was on his side and would do whatever needed to be done to help out and be there when Conner knew what it was he wanted to say. 

Not that Dick was expecting trouble from the Team, especially not the old guard. Aqualad didn’t seem to understand what prejudice was, even though the color of his skin had led to him being a victim of it. Roy was...dealing with things, but he’d still show up if things got really nasty. 

And Wally? Had absolutely no room to talk. Dick knew he’d flirted with every girl in the mountain so aggressively to hide the fact that he was pretty much okay with flirting with everything that moved. Artemis’s biggest problem with it was that she was dating a walking pansexual stereotype. 

Dick had gone to Pride with them several times and had a blast.

So Conner had an army of people at his back that he’d been counting on since before he’d even seen the moon and they were all ready to kick ass and take names at the drop of a hat, even if Dick did have to threaten him for daring to date his little brother.

But who did Tim have?

He had the family, certainly. Bruce was at Tim’s back. Dick had already had that conversation to ensure that Bruce was on the right fricking page. There was no way Cass hadn’t seen this coming because she was just like that.

  
  
And Dami was… well Dami was more standing in front of Tim with a knife and hissing at those who approached, but the point was that he was on Tim’s side. Honestly, Dick had no idea where Jay stood on the issue but if it wasn’t in the right spot he was going to lock Jay in a room, tape him to a chair, and make him watch every pro-homosexuality presentation he could find until Jay shaped up into a better person. 

Not that Dick thought it would come to that. 

So Tim likely had everyone in the house behind him like he always did, but there was a good chance that he either didn’t understand or didn’t believe it to be true. Like he always did. 

So Dick was going to go fling himself onto Tim and hug the boy until he understood that nothing in this house had changed. 

Dick had planned on knocking on the door, but it was still open. He stepped into the suite, closing the door behind him as he looked for Tim. He wasn’t in the room, but Dick could see that Tim’s bedroom door hadn’t been shut. 

He bit his lip. Tim was...weird about his bedroom. Not even Alfred was allowed in it. Jason had entered it once and had spent a week jumping at shadows, convinced a vengeful Tim was behind every door and hidden in every rafter. Apparently that itself had actually been the revenge and Tim had muttered something about letting Jay off easy because Dami was involved. Dick didn’t have the full story. 

The point was that Tim’s bedroom door was open. Did he dare?

Dick was the most emotionally intelligent person in this entire gosh darn house. Did he dare? Stupid dramatic question. That was Bruce’s influence leaking in. 

He approached the door, dragging his feet to make noise so Tim could hear him coming. “Tim,” Dick called, tapping on the edge of the door frame. 

Well, no wonder Tim didn’t let Alfred in. The room was an absolute mess, cluttered with more clothes than he thought Tim even owned. Wait. That was Dick’s shirt. He’d been wondering where it had gone to. There was also stuff scattered all over the desk. Two laptops, one of which was balanced precariously on a stack of books, a mountain of photos that had actually slid, some of them landing on the floor. A map was tacked into a wall, pins and string everywhere. Probably a cold case Tim had volunteered himself to work. Only two things looked deliberately placed. Tim’s camera and it’s lenses. 

It was a good metaphor for Tim. The sitting room being this space built in bland neutrals and perfectly pristine. Dick didn’t think a single thread of the carpet was out of place. But the bedroom where Tim really lived, was a chaotic mess that laid bare his personality and-

-was that Tim’s leg?

“Shoot!” Dick gasped, his motions driven by fright. Why was Tim on the floor? Had something happened? Something medical? Jay had said Tim’s meds had made him seizure. Was this like that? Something else?  
  
Had Tim hurt himself?

He wasn’t bleeding. Dick could see that much, and Dexter was resting peacefully on Tim’s chest, rising with every even breath. Dick had heard the story of how Dexter had been found. Tim’s version anyway, which often wasn’t the truth. He knew there was something else there because the cat was way too darn smart. But in moments like these he didn’t care because Dexter would have come and grabbed someone if something had been seriously wrong. 

Still, Dick couldn’t put all his faith in a cat. 

He reached out and placed his fingers over the edge of Tim’s wrist, feeling the steady thrum of Tim’s pulse.

Tim grumbled and shifted, making Dexter start awake. The cat hissed at Dick before clambering off of Tim and jumping onto the bed. He settled himself so he could stare down Dick, his tail flicking dangerously. Dick was pretty sure that the cat had a tactical advantage over him and was unmerciful enough to use it. 

“Dick?” Tim asked in a tired moan. “Are you in my room?” That question came out sharper. 

“You left the door open,” Dick explained as he helped Tim into a sitting position. The kid had lines from the clothes he was on pressed into his face. “I knocked but then I saw your leg peeking out and panicked a little. Are you okay?”  
  
Tim yawned. “I’m fi-,” he cut himself off. “I’m good.”  
  


That was a lie. Tim’s eyes were puffed with a crimson tinge. He’d been crying. Darn. Dick should have spoken to Bruce after he spoke to Tim. 

Dick leveled Tim with his most unconvinced look at Tim’s shoulders dropped. “I’ve just got a lot of stuff going on.”

“I know,” Dick said. “We’ll get you up on the bed and then we’ll talk about it.”

“It’s kinda personal,” Tim said, and Dick recognized it as a kinda verbal push off, but Tim accepted Dick’s help rising to his feet. A good sign. Tim plunked down on the edge of his bed and Dexter immediately crawled into his lap, rubbing his face against Tim’s chest until Tim absently stroked the cat’s face. “Just a lot going on today.”

Dick sat down, leaving a bit of distance between himself and Tim, not wanting Tim to feel crowded or attacked. “I know, Tim.” Tim blinked at Dick and it was like watching someone clear cobwebs. In a single swipe the mess was gone and only clarity remained. “I know,” Dick repeated. 

Tim scoffed. “Who told you? Clark or Bruce?” he asked vehemently, fury rolling off of every word.

“Neither,” Dick responded, keeping calm. Ice to balance Tim’s flaring rage. “Dami overheard Clark and Bruce.”

It was like watching a game of ping pong. Tim was suddenly collected and surprised, as though all that rage had never been. “Dami? But he was being so...nice today, and he’s usually pretty vicious where Conner is concerned. I don’t understand the flip.” Tim narrowed his eyes at Dick. “What did you tell him?” Tim practically hissed. 

Dick couldn’t help his small chuckle. “Apparently, Dami’s been pissed all this time because he suspected you and Conner were a thing and Conner didn’t meet League levels of approval.” He could see Tim’s brain shift as this new data was assimilated, replacing old theories hard and fast. “He’s never cared about Conner being a clone, he certainly doesn’t care that he’s gay, but he’s super pissed that he doesn’t have an empire of gold with a pile of denizens to cater to your every whim.”

“What?” Tim asked, his eyes widening. “ _What?!_ ”

Dick laughed, partly at Tim’s reaction. Dick had to process this information while Dami was watching. Tim had the benefit of doing it in private so Dick wasn’t feeling particularly charitable in that regard. “I told him that all that matters was that Conner made you happy and while he wasn’t super thrilled about that, I think he’ll abide by it for now.” The smile slid from Dick’s face. “I also told him he couldn't tell anyone.”

Tim exhaled heavily through his lips. “Did he tell Jay?”

“No,” Dick shook his head. “Just me. And I really do think he’ll keep his silence. Even beyond being a bat, he’s from the League. He knows the value of silence.”

“Thanks,” Tim mumbled before he began to pick at a nonexistent string on his comforter. “So what about you?”

“I won’t tell anyone either,” Dick promised. 

Tim sighed and Dick could tell that wasn't the question he wanted answered. “How do you feel about it? Are you pissed I’m dating your teammate? Disgusted that I’m gay? Ashamed now that you know I’m a freak? A fa-”

Dick slapped a hand over Tim’s mouth and leaned in close. “You need to be very careful about what you say because you are talking about my little brother, who I love very much. He’s brave and loving and has an excellent sense of humor and he’s currently dating one of my best friends who, from what I can tell, making him very happy.” He slowly removed his hand, reading to put it back if Tim interrupted. “So right now I am thrilled you have someone else who cares for you so deeply. Conner is a great guy and he takes commitments seriously, and I look forward to dragging you to Pride when you feel safe and comfortable enough to go.”

Tim looked gobsmacked. “Waynes don’t go to Pride! What would the neighbors say?”

Dick frowned at Tim. “You were literally the neighbor.”  
  
“I do not count.”

“You do,” Dick nodded sagely. “In fact, you are the only neighbor who counts. So what do you say? I go every year, so how would you feel about two Waynes going to Pride one of these days?”

It was too small to be a smile, but something soft crossed Tim’s face. “I suppose I can allow that.”

“Good. Because you didn’t have much choice.”

“Oh?” Tim asked, tilting his head. Dexter jumped off of Tim’s lap. That cat really was too smart. 

“If you’d said the wrong thing, this would have happened!” Dicked pounced, pushing Tim onto his back as his fingers worked Tim’s skin, burrowing into sensitive spots. 

“Stop!” Tim gasped, laughing and squirming under Dick’s tickling assault. 

“No mercy!” Dick declared, his tickles barely interrupted as Tim tried to use a Bat Approved move to knock Dick off. Dick adjusted to the blow, moving with it so he could wrap Tim into a pin. Beneath him, Tim shrieked in laughter and Dexter, always a barometer of Tim’s state, sat on the end table compulsively cleaning a paw. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“So we’re going to hit Clark right where he hit us,” Tim said in a caffeinated frenzy. There was a full mug cooling on the desk which meant that Tim had been self supplying, which was always messy. If it wasn’t for the fact that Conner could hear that Tim’s heartbeat was within acceptable human variations, he would have tossed over his shoulder and carried him to medical. 

“We’ll hit hard, fast, and merciless and we’ll leave him a sobbing mess on the floor ofWatchtower.” Tim started to pull out newspaper photocopies. “I’ve been studying our target for maximum damages, and I feel like it will be easy for us to insert you into his life in the ways that cause the most catastrophic damage.” He slammed the paper onto the bed and began manically sorting through the pile. 

“Tim,” Conner called. It was his third attempt to get his boyfriend’s attention. He knew that Tim wasn’t handling getting outed well. Conner wasn’t doing great with it either. He’d basically locked himself in his room, ignoring anyone who knocked on his door. The only reason he’d eaten anything today was that Bart had vibrated through the wall carrying breakfast. Given how Tim had reacted last night, Conner had half expected Tim to dump him when he’d slammed his hands against Conner’s door demanding to be let in. 

Not this.

“Hmm?” Tim didn’t look up from what he was doing, too wrapped up in his vengeance. Tim was scarily good at being a force of evil. That was the first thing Conner had ever known about the boy. Everything else had come after. They made jokes about Conner being the criminal mastermind, but if Tim ever decided to go that way not even the League would be able to stop him. 

“Tim!” Conner snapped in frustration. 

It was enough to get Tim to jerk his head up and make eye contact with Conner. “What?” he asked, sounding completely puzzled. 

Tim was messed up, Conner reminded himself. Where Tim came from, Dick Grayon and Kon were both douchebags. Conner needed to be patient, the way people were patient with him when he first woke up. “Boundaries.” There. Conner didn’t even snap.

Tim’s face clouded with confusion. He looked down at his research, then up at Conner. “Superman’s boundaries?” he asked. Conner could tell Tim knew it was the wrong answer, but he’d said it because he didn’t know the right one. How could Tim have been this savant child CEO and still not get people this badly? Was it just people Tim liked that he didn’t understand?

“My boundaries.”

Tim’s brow wrinkled and while he was sometimes an absolute idiot he was still cute when being one. “Your boundaries,” he confirmed. “Is it the white noise watch?” He looked at his wrist, at the one thing stopping Superman from hearing what he had reaped. 

Conner shook his head. 

“Is it because I barged into your room?” Tim still sounded hesitant and Conner decided to take mercy on both of them. He didn’t know if he had it in him for Tim to pick apart everything that he could have possibly done wrong while missing the obvious. 

“You vengeance relies upon me inserting myself into Clark Kent’s life.” He sat there, arms folded as he leaned against the wall, and watched realization sink in. 

“Oh,” Tim said quietly, like a small child who had just realized that he’d done something terrible. “I didn’t ask you if you were okay with that.”

“And?”

Tim’s shoulders slumped. “And I didn’t think about the long term consequences it would have on you.”

Conner nodded. “You want me to go out and meet all these people just to hurt Superman and never asked whether or not I wanted to meet them, if I’d be okay meeting his parents. And what will I do if they want to have a real relationship? How will _I_ feel if they don’t? All of this depends on me and you didn’t ask.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Tim and Conner both sighed. Conner knew Tim meant it. He always meant it. And he was getting better. He’d asked for a hair sample the other day instead of stealing one out of his hairbrush. “We can go to the Kryptonite plans instead. I’m pretty sure I’m close to designing something that could permanently scar. He’d have to get good at make up in one of his identities. Plus whenever he looked in the mirror he’d remember not to fuck with us.” Tim practically growled that last statement. 

“Tim.” Conner said flatly. “Ask.”

Tim blinked at him several, gawking, before sputtering out, “are you okay with us meeting Superman’s friends and families so we can rain vengeance upon him like the fury of the old gods?” 

Conner gave a nod. “Yes. I am.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “Where do we start?”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Lex Luthor both hated and admired Lois Lane. She was intelligent and vicious, able to ferret out information with only a gut instinct and it wasn’t only Superman’s interference that had kept her from expiring. She was resourceful. If he’d met her earlier in her life she would have been a valuable asset. 

As it stood now she was currently a gigantic pain in his side. 

“So Mr. Luthor, everyone is aware of the _allegations,”_ he was certain she only emphasized the word in order to frustrate him. Unfortunately, it was working. “That were recently made against you.”  
  


“And I have been cleared on all charges.” He kept on an easy smile while her pet ginger fumbled with his camera as though he was trying to find a bad angle but Luthor dealt with far more serious opponents than this scruff. He didn’t have a bad angle for the riff-raff to exploit. 

“Of course,” Lane said demurely. He didn’t know how. That harpy didn’t have a demure bone in her body. “But Jacob Campbell was found guilty on nearly every charge and LuthorCorp had been heavily investing in him. What steps are you taking to _morally_ protect LuthorCorp?”

He’d been prepared for this question, but she was still a hag for actually asking it. He didn’t shift his weight, didn’t show any sign of weakness. “LuthorCorp has increased scrutiny on all of our potential business partners.”

  
“Is that the reason why so many companies have broken contracts with LuthorCorp?” 

And it was moments like these why he wondered why he didn’t just have Mercy put a bomb under Lane’s car and rid himself of this woman. He knew why. She would be replaced by some upstart thing that would be just as frustrating and half as admirable. That and Superman would have considerably more time to pester Lex. While it would be satisfying in the moment, there was little long term benefit. 

His smile didn’t flicker. “It was natural for other business leaders to move to protect the _morality_ of their companies, though it would have been preferable for them to have waited until after a verdict had been rendered. I do, however, appreciate the revelation that I am working with such fine people and I look to re-establishing ties in the future,” when he crushed them for daring to cross him. Even if, _even if,_ he had been guilty, no one should have had the gall to break business contracts with LuthorCorp. 

“Do you think your investors feel the same way?”

His investors’ jobs were to give him the money he needed and nothing more. They were too small minded to understand his views, to see not how the world was, but how it _should_ be. The idea of them suddenly having opinions about Luthor’s character was demeaning and Lane knew it.  
  
While a car bomb was out of the question, an unfriendly mugging was not. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Okay, what the fuck was going on?  
  
Everyone. 

_Everyone_. 

_Absolutely EVERYONE._

Was acting like a fucking weirdo. 

Jay could understand not being in the loop if something was just going on between Bruce and Tim. Or Dick and Tim. Or even Dami and Tim. Jay had his own shit that was just behind him and Tim. It was just a thing families did. 

But right now everyone fucking knew what was going on _except_ Jay and that was just fucking bullshit. Why the hell was he not good enough to be involved in Tim’s stuff now? Was it because he was outta the cape? Was that it? Was it because he was the Robin who’d bit it and they didn’t think they could hack it?

Well, fuck ’em. Jay was gonna get to the bottom of this one way or another.  
  
He wouldn’t be able to crack Bruce. That was something only Dick could do. Dami never bothered to try and Tim just seemed to already know whatever it was that Bruce knew except when it had to do with feelings. Gremlin would sooner bite Jay’s finger off than he would betray any of Tim’s secrets and Dick simply couldn’t tell him because Jay was pretty sure it would shatter whatever was going on between him and Tim. 

They’d likely never find Jay’s body if he asked Cass.

That left either trying to drag it out of Conner, a guy who could throw a car through a wall, or Alfred, who could do that thing with his eyebrows that made him feel guilty for all the shit he did in a previous life. It was a pretty tough choice but one had proximity on its side.

“Hey Alf,” Jay caught the old man while he was polishing the silverware, “need a hand?”

“Hm?” Alfred asked, as though Jay had pulled him from his thoughts, which was weird because Alfred was probably more aware of his environment that Bruce was. Said he always needed to be because there were too many children and too much glass in this house. He had a point. “Oh Master Jay. How may I assist?”

Okay. That was weird. “I’m bored so I was wondering if you wanted a hand with,” he motioned towards the tarnished spoons. 

Alfred smiled genuinely, if a bit distractedly. “That would be lovely, dear boy.”  
  
Jay sat beside Alfred and picked up a polishing cloth and a spoon. What was usually a comfortable silence felt off. Not bad but slightly out of focus. It made Jay feel uncertain of his approach. Normally, the best way to get things from Alfred was to natter away until the old butler sighed and asked what was wrong. Jay had prepared himself to talk about his online classes and the world’s preoccupation with Shakspeare cause let’s be honest, dude wasn’t the hot shit all his teachers made him out to, but right now he didn’t feel like that was the best way to approach the situation. 

Well, he _was_ the brazen Robin. 

“Alfred, what’s going on?”

Alfred froze for a moment before setting a spoon down on top of a pile. They rattled like chains. “I’m not sure it's my place to tell you, Master Jason.”  
  
Full name. Whatever was going on was serious business. “Everyone else knows.”

“And I assure you that is merely a matter of coincidence, not a reflection of trust,” Alfred said in a calm that, while usually soothing, was infuriating at this particular moment. 

“Bullshit.” Alfred didn’t even snap at him over the use of language. “Everyone told me that when I died I was missed, that when I came back I was still a part of this family. That it didn’t matter that I can’t put on the costume again. I can’t. But now there’s this thing going on and I’m not included.” Shit. He hadn’t meant to bring that up at all. And now that he had he couldn’t fucking stop. Shiiiiiiit. “Does everyone think I’m weak? Because I’m always going to be the Robin that died? Is that it?,” he slammed his hands on the table, making the cutlery tremble. Alfred didn’t even try to reprimand Jay and he had no idea what that even meant. Was Jay right? Wrong? Just what the fuck. “Is everyone just humoring me while behind my back they’re going on about how I’ve lost _it_ and am never going to get the magic of being Robin back? Or am I,” Jay looked down at his hands. Hands that were usually rock steady but were currently shaking, like he was a rookie in his first fight, “am I just not good enough?”

“Dear boy,” Alfred wrapped his arms around Jason. Despite the fact that he was as tall as Alfred and definitely broader, he definitely felt safe in the old man’s arms. “The situation is sensitive and it is not that we do not feel as though you can handle it, but that we are all coming to terms with it.  
  
“And while I am hesitant to speak up, no one has instructed me to keep this a secret, least of all from you.” Alfred let Jay go, taking a step back and Jay could read the disappointment in Alfred’s face. “Mister Kent brought the knowledge to light that Master Timothy’s… romantic proclivities are inappropriate for a member of the Wayne family.”

“Romantic proclivities?” What did that even mean? Jay knew what the words meant in a dictionary sense but in this moment, contextually, he was confused. 

Alfred’s expression was grave, as though he was telling Jay that Dick had been terribly injured on patrol. “Master Timothy has… homosexual leanings.”

Oh. 

OH.

THAT’S why Conner was involved. “Oh shit.”

Alfred inclined his head. “Oh shit indeed.”

There was so much Jay needed to process. When did they hook up? How long were they official? Were they using condoms? Or dental dams? Did Alfred just swear? Wait, no, focus. Did they have lube?  
  
Jay had never had butt sex but he’d grown up with the sex workers who had and they always said have lube. Tim was smart enough to know that, right? He could secretly buy an apartment complex, he should be able to get his hands on a bottle of lube. 

Shit. Was everyone being nice about this? Dickface should be nice. He grew up with bearded ladies and shit. There was no way that someone at a circus that size didn’t have, as Alfred had said, _homosexual leanings_ .  
  
Was this why Tim had dropped out of school? 

Jay almost cracked his knuckles right there and then. He and Tim were both sixteen but Jason claimed oldest because he’d totally aged while dead, despite what Bruce said. Dick was always too busy with the Team which meant that when the new semester started and they had to physically walk into a school building it would be up to Jay to introduce heads to lockers for talking shit about his little brother. 

He could do that. He was a damn good big brother. By the time they graduated he was gonna be even better than Dick. Let him suck on _that._

But now he needed to make sure Tim was safe. Brochures? He knew where the Gotham Pride Centre was located. He’d pick up everything Tim and Conner could possibly need.

And lube. 

Definitely lube. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

In Watchtower, Hal Jordan, who had been scheduled to supervise a bunch of baby heroes in their first space assignment, a small jaunt to a nearby allied planet just for a quick hello and to let the newbies orient themselves, suddenly found himself with a lot more free time than he had expected. Superman, on the other hand, suddenly found himself babysitting a quick trip to a nearby planet. Neither of them questioned it. Jordan hadn’t wanted the assignment anyways and Superman could use a break from Batman, who was mad at _him_ instead of Tim and Superboy for keeping pertinent information a secret. 

So he was relieved that he’d be getting off planet soon. It would give the situation time to settle, allow the fires to burn out so everyone could behave rationally. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter probably has a few people screaming. I understanding. It's a thing. There there and I'm not sorry I'm evil. Also, check out my discord!
> 
> https://discord.gg/dwhZGTh


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a matter of pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for accidental misgendering
> 
> the LGTBQ+ community is complicated and a lot of people in the story are new to this so be prepared for that type of stuff in this and future chapters.

Tim had a plan.

While normally that made Tim feel safe and in control, right now all he felt like was a mess, like back when he’d first put on Red Robin and all the lines were blurring as Tim struggled not to do what was right, but what was needed. There were too many factors beyond his control, too many people involved that he didn’t invite into the situation. 

He had the haunting feeling that he was going to come out of this down another organ. 

At least this time he had back-up. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Last time he’d had Ra’s and all of his resources: his assassins and his network, but Tim much preferred Conner, even if all the other boy brought was his warm, unyielding support. And his ability to tell Tim to step back. It was surprisingly nice to be told to edit, to be given permission to not have to carry out a plan with every possible angle fulfilled. 

To just do enough.

That felt amazing.

Still, Tim was nothing if not meticulous so he sat, his laptop open as he worked through the backdoor he’d left in Watchtower, making sure that no one noticed the subtle changes he’d made to the schedule to make sure that no one was going to ask where he was when he needed eyes off of him. He’d even given the Team a mission, a milk-run surveillance over what could be a shady smuggling operation. It wasn’t. Just a few guys who kept falling behind on quotas so they were breaking labor laws to try and keep up with a sudden uptick in business. 

But it would keep the Team busy. 

Dexter sat in Tim’s lap, purring as Tim slowly stroked his silky fur. 

He heard a snort from the doorway and looked up, annoyed. “Has everyone around here forgotten how to knock?”

“And miss you looking like a Bond villain?” Jay said, letting himself into the room. He was carrying a box and had what looked to be a handful of brochures tucked under his arm. “If Dexter’s hair was any longer I could send a video of you to Hollywood and you’d be a shoe-in for the next movie.” Jay unceremoniously dumped his load onto the couch before heading back to the door, locking it. Then he grabbed a chair, dragging it across the room and dropping it at an angle underneath the door handle. 

“There,” he said, dusting his hands off of each other as though he’d just done a hard job. “Now we won’t be interrupted.”   
  
Jay knew. That was the only explanation. Jay knew and he was trapping Tim in a room to beat the tar out of him because Jay didn’t need to share his roof with a goddamn sissy boy. 

Tim’s hand stilled, sliding over to his laptop in case he needed to use it as a weapon.

Jay pulled out a knife, walking closer to the couch. Tim flinched as he drove the blade into the box before sliding it down smoothly, slicing through the tape. The knife was flicked shut and tucked away. 

Jay reached into the box and pulled out a giant bottle. It’s contents were clear and, from what Tim could tell, thick. He quickly dismissed the idea that Jay was trying to poison him, that was more Dami’s speed, and gave the bottle a hard look. 

In bright blue letters, the word ANAL stood prominently against the packaging. 

“Tim,” Jay said in the same serious tone he’d used when he’d asked Tim what the fuck was up with team Take Down the Light, “do you know what lube is for?”   
  
Oh my god.    
  


Oh My God. 

This was  _ NOT  _ happening. 

Both Tim’s laptop and Dexter slid off of Tim’s lap as he curled his legs up and tried to desperately cover his face with both his hands. He could feel the burning of his cheeks against his palms and never more in his life did he wish that this Jay wanted him dead. He was so strangled by horror that all he could let out was a soft meep. 

Jay seemed to take that as a no. “Okay, lube is used to decrease friction while having sex. It helps prevent tearing, which can lead to infections. You especially-”

“Jay, stop!” Tim half ordered, half begged. He was not having a conversation about anal tearing with anyone. Ever. 

Jay frowned. “This is important, Tim. If you and Conner are hooking up-”

“We aren’t hooking up!” Tim waved his hands in desperate denial. “We’re dating! Sorta. We haven’t put a label on it!” Tim couldn’t think of a single time he’d been more mortified in his life, and he’d had some really awkward moments as a teenager, both in the suit and out of it. 

Jay nodded with pride. Pride? Why the hell was Jay proud?!

“Good. Glad to see Conner ain’t taking advantage of you.”   
  
“Why can’t I be the one taking advantage of him?” Tim threw out desperately. Distract. That was his strategy. Distract and then throw himself out a window. At this moment breaking his neck was not a concern. 

“Him and Miss M totally banged,” Jay said casually, as though that was something everyone knew, “and you have blushing virgin written all over you.”

“I’m not-” but he was. He shivered. And the only reason he was one was thanks to Cass. The closest he’d ever come to having sex had been in the catacombs. God. 

“No offense, bro, but you totally are,” Jay said obliviously, giving Tim a chance to push those feelings away. “Which is why we also need to talk about-” Jay reached back into the box and pulled out a giant package “-condoms!”

“No. Nope. We do not.”

Jay snorted. “You dropped out of school. Did you make it through a sex ed course? You know what? I don’t care. Schools suck. I was taught on the street by the experts so I’m going to pass that knowledge onto you.”

Tim felt horror settle over him. “You- When you were-”

Jay stared at Tim uncomprehending before letting out a snort. “Chill. I did not. I was too little to fight back if I got a bad John. Maybe if I stayed longer? If Bruce hadn’t found me? Yeah, I might have ended up a sex worker, but I made my living doing odd jobs, pickpocketing and boosting tires. There were just a lot of sex workers in my neighborhood and they looked out for me. Taught me what’s what. The real shit that the world doesn’t want kids to know. 

“But it keeps kids safe so you’re gonna hear.”

Tim shook his head, trying to push himself into the arm of the couch and as far away from Jay as he possibly could. “Nope. I’m good. Conner and I are not having sex.”

Jay rolled his eyes, as though  _ Tim _ was the one being unreasonable. “Knowing what's up is always better than trying to fumble your way through it in the heat of the moment,” he countered. 

“We’re not having sex!” Tim shouted, actually standing to put distance between Jay and that accursed box.   
  
“Not having sex, yet,” Jay countered and Tim felt his temper snap. 

“No! I mean we aren’t having sex. We aren’t going to have sex. Stop acting like we’re fucking like rabbits in a closet and leave me the fuck alone.” Jay’s mouth was hanging half open as he looked dumbfounded and it took a moment for Tim to realize what he’d just revealed. “Shit.” He felt his knees go weak and he didn’t fight it, just let gravity pull him to the floor. “Shit, Jay.” Tim hung his head in defeat. “I’m broken,” he admitted. 

“Oh.” Jay sounded surprised but not judgemental. As though this had been another plausible option that Jay just hadn’t thought about. “Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have bought lube,” he grumbled as he grabbed his pile of pamphlets, shuffling through them before teasing one out of the pile. He took a few steps towards Tim and kneeled on the floor, offering the paper out like it was an apology. 

With quivering hands Tim took it, immediately taking note of the color scheme and how deliberate it looked. Black, grey, white, and purple, all set together on a deck of cards’ ace. The top read ‘What is Asexuality?’ 

“What?” Tim muttered, easing off of his knees and down to his butt as he studied the pamphlet. He flipped it open to be greeted by the image of cake in the same color pattern and the words ‘you are not alone’. Tim looked up at Jay, uncomprehendingly. “What?”

“Sounds like you’re ace,” Jay said with a shrug as though it was something to just be chill over. “I have more pamphlets, cause I wasn’t sure if you were gay or pan or something, so you should read those too, so you can figure out what kinda ace you are. Or if you’re aro.

“I don’t get how that works but I guess you can still date? I dunno.” Jay ran a hand through his hair and frowned. “I’m not an expert on this stuff. But there was definitely one of these things that had a phone number and an email to an expert if you needed someone to chat with who isn’t Dick. 

“Don’t get me wrong. I love Dick, but he’s probably the straightest person I know. Not that he isn’t supportive,” Jay backtracked hastily. “His bestie is somewhere in the alphabet or I’ll eat Bruce’s cowl. Dick’s just never. You know. Dabbled.”

Tim blinked at Jay. “You’ve...dabbled?” 

“Well yeah,” Jay said. He was just so blasé about it, as though it was something that was  _ natural _ to talk about. “Still kinda am. I’ve been feeling weird about my body since coming back and thought it might be a gender thing.” He hummed as though he was thinking, but Tim could tell this was a conversation that Jay had had with himself before. “Might not be. Might be a being dead thing. Still, on the street being tough was how you got by, and I didn’t want the Team thinking I was weak, so I never really experimented. Dying changed my perspective. 

“I might come out the otherside figuring I was alright the way I was, or I might learn something new.” Jay shrugged again. “Won’t know unless I look. S’what being a detective is all about, right?”

“Right,” Tim agreed vaguely, emotionally overloaded. 

Jay poked Tim in the forehead. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve gotten out of the speech! Maybe someday you’ll change your mind, or just want to try it for the sake of trying it, so I’m gonna teach you how to do it safely. ” Jay rose to his feet and held a hand out to Tim. 

Tim eyed it suspiciously before taking it. Instead of allowing Jay to pull him up Tim jerked sharply, knocking Jay off balance. He rolled back, taking Jay with him and throwing him across the room. 

“Wha!” Jay squawked as he hit the carpet, and by the time he’d recovered from his shock Tim had kicked the chair out of the way and was out of the room.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bruce Wayne entered the Pride Centre wearing what amounted to casual business wear for Bruce Wayne, but the moment his foot was through the door he could see that he was extremely overdressed and stuck out in a way that was… undesirable.

There was a small handful of teenagers in a sitting space. One was a Latino girl dressed in a cheery yellow dress that matched her makeup and a bow she'd tucked into her caramel colored hair. The girl? boy? person? Person. The person beside her had the sides of their head shaved and their inky black hair was swept to one side. Piercings adorned their nose and lips. The third was a dark skinned young man with the pinkest hair Bruce had ever seen.

They made him feel like an intruder.

The receptionist was a frizzy haired young woman, likely barely out of her teens, wearing a Gotham U sweater. Her name tag was, as far as Bruce could tell, this plastic thing that paper was just slipped inside of. In messy handwriting it proclaimed her to be Gail, she/her. 

The rest of the building had a shabby feeling to it. There was a display made up of plastic cubbies, each filled with brochures in a variety of colors, but the cubbies themselves were scratched and chipped. The walls were covered in posters, many of them home made, many more faded, and there were dents and grooves in the wall. In high traffic spots the floor was worn to the point where the woodgrain was no longer recognizable as such. There was a sitting area of mixed couches that were obvious donations Bruce could tell by how deeply the pink haired boy had sunk into the one nearest him that it had no springs left. 

“Mis-Mr Wayne,” Gail stuttered out. “I didn’t know-” she grabbed a book from her desk, desperately flipping through it.    
  
“I don’t have an appointment, Gail,” he flashed her an assuring smile, “but I would like to speak to the Director as soon as she is free.”

“Yes, Mr Wayne. Of course, Mr Wayne! I just-”

“Just Bruce,” he let out a honeyed laugh, “Mr Wayne makes me feel old.”

“Yes, Mr- Bruce. I’ll go tell Maddy you’re here.” She blushed and practically raced down the hall. 

Bruce stood casually, pretending to ignore the gazes of the teens in the sitting room even though he was hyper aware. Two of the teens had softened, probably because his identity had been confirmed, and were staring in awe. The girl wearing yellow was still mistrustful. He could hear their whispers. 

“Think he come to donate?”   
  
“Hell no. Probably come to buy this place up and dump us out of here."

“But he’s Bruce  _ Wayne _ . He donates everywhere.”   
  
An indelicate snort. “No one wastes their money on us.”

A click. The sound of a phone camera. 

“Ellie, why did you do that? He probably heard! Now you’re gonna get sued.”

A stern woman with black hair that framed her face harshly and despite the fact she was wearing a rainbow colored t-shirt and was half Bruce’s height she gave off an intimidating air. Bruce liked her immediately. 

“Mister Wayne,” she said with a harsh emphasis he’d been on the receiving end of many times before, when Brucie Wayne tanked a bad deal through what appeared to be flighty behavior. She was the first to manage to make him feel as though he might actually be doing something wrong. “You do not have an appointment.” 

Bruce Wayne? Needing an appointment? Maddy Mendez was rising to Bruce’s top ten list of civilians he liked. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Me-”

“-Director,” she said steely. 

“Sorry, Director Mendez,” he corrected quickly, feeling chastened. “But I’ve found I have a matter to discuss with you that would be best handled quickly.” 

She studied him in a manner of disapproval that would impress even Alfred, before spinning. “My office is this way. You have five minutes. Unlike some people, I don’t have an army of staffers to do all my work.” She was brisk and ruled this space with the same power that Bruce ruled Wayne Enterprise. This was the first time in years that he’d felt like someone might not actually listen to him. That it would take effort to plead his case. 

That he could be told no. 

He was led down a short hall that had a blanket serve as a makeshift door. To the side was an actual room and Maddy let Bruce in. The space was small. With a cramped desk and a single chair on the other side, it was being utilized to its fullest capacity. He’d barely settled himself before Maddy was on him. 

“Let’s get one thing straight,  _ Mister Wayne _ . Your money means nothing here. I’ve been fighting this fight longer than you’ve been alive. You don’t get to touch this place. You don’t get to know about this place. We aren’t here for you.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. He’d expected some mistrust but not the immediate hostility and had the sense that if he couldn’t bench press Maddy or sue her into the next century she would punch him in the nose. Given the way her hands were clenched she still might. Wayne Enterprise had never worked to sabatoge gay rights, though the company had never made supporting them a priority. Many didn’t, so this was unlikely a professional dispute. Strategically, this building wasn’t worth buying, so getting protective over that was ridiculous which meant. 

Bruce sighed. “One of the boys swung by.” Dammit Dick. The boy had been living with Bruce for a decade and still managed to forget that he was famous. Maddy’s glare intensified but she didn’t say anything. 

Bruce let his business persona drop, knowing that this woman would toss him out if she thought for a single second that he was here to play her. She didn’t care what his last name was and, under other circumstances, it would have been refreshing. 

“I believe you to be a discrete woman so I am going to be frank with you. One of my children was discovered to be gay and I have no idea how to handle that.”   
  
“Gay children require the same love that regular children do, Mister Wayne,” she said in a tone so cold that Mr. Freeze wouldn’t be able to help but admire. 

Bruce nodded as she spoke. “Quite so, but they also face more challenges and I need to be prepared to support him and his partner in every way that I am able.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Bruce needed her to believe him. “I love my children,” he said, speaking more sincerely to this woman than he ever had the press. “They are the most important things in my life, which means their happiness is the most important thing in my life. You have resources that can help me ensure my son stays happy.”   
  
“And you’re going to be willing to pay for them,” she concluded, her voice blank. There was no acceptance, no intrigue, but she also hadn’t thrown him out on his ass. 

Bruce scooted a bit closer to the desk, his knees hitting the wood. “ However much you need whenever you need it provided it is for a reasonable reason.”   
  
“And what qualifies as reasonable?” Maddy asked acidically, her shoulders square and her eyes fierce. Ready to fight again. 

“Hiring staff, outreach programs, repairing this space or investing in new ones,” he listed. “I’m not going to buy you the Gotham Stadium but unless you ask for it I’ll probably approve all your requests. Most of the money won’t be marked for anything specific unless it’s an unusually large sum.” Finally,  _ finally _ she appeared thoughtful. “You’re a smart woman, Director Mendez. You know how much more could do with my support. Wayne Enterprise will still be making a sizable donation to your cause to justify my presence here, but I have so much more to offer. I have connections with powerful people, powerful enough to make real change. 

“I am here, asking you to help me help my son. I don’t often say this but I don’t know what I’m doing and I need your help.” Fewer than a handful of people in Bruce’s life had ever heard those words. 

She drummed her fingers on the desk. “And if I want your name out of it? I don’t want to advertise that my Centre is suddenly Wayne funded?”

Bruce leaned back. “I must make a few public donations on behalf of Wayne Enterprises. I hoped to make several small public donations through the company, the same as I do for many causes, and claim that an employee of Wayne Enterprise brought up that we were neglecting an opportunity to help.”

“An employee,” Maddy said, unimpressed. 

Bruce gave her a business smile. “I am an employee. And I will have to announce a donation soon. I do believe a picture of me being here is probably already up on twitter or tumblr or whatever kids use these days.

“If you agree to deepen our relationship, Director, I can back another into publically championing your cause to keep my end of the deal. Honestly, it’s what I would prefer. My family is far too in the public eye to escape scrutiny for suddenly investing heavily here and my son does not need the added stress of the media on him at this time.” Tim didn’t need Vicki Vale snooping around him at any time, but there was only so much Bruce could do about that woman. “I have people I trust to do what I say without ever uttering my name.”   
  


Maddy clasped her own hands, resting them in front of her as she frowned. “I am considering your proposal Mr Wayne,” he was pleased that the angry drawl over the word mister had vanished, “but that doesn’t change that it is my space and my rules apply. All decisions are run by me and everything that happens here happens in confidence. I don’t care how rich, or how powerful you are. If you mess with my kids I will end you.”

“Oh, I know how to keep a secret.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Lois hadn’t survived as an investigative reporter on Superman’s interference alone. She’d been at the Daily Planet far longer than Clark had and knew how to navigate the streets better than him. If he didn’t have powers the media machine would have ground him to dust eons ago. Sure, Clark saved her. Occasionally. But that was always when Luthor was involved but, honestly, Luthor was a whole nother level. There’d been more than one time that Clark himself had needed to be saved from that psycho. 

The point was Lois was more than capable of taking care of herself, which was why her first thought when she was jumped on her morning jog was  _ Thank god I’m wearing runners. _

They were both relatively normal looking men, no distinguishing marks like hideous scars or faded neck tattoos. They didn’t look rough around the edges, didn’t have that natural gleam in their eyes that was always there in guys who pulled crap like this for fun. But given that one of them had dragged her into an alley and the other had pulled a knife, they both obviously still did this type of crap. 

“Gimme your money and you won’t get hurt,” the guy with the knife said calmly. Brown hair, brown eyes, a faded band shirt and small wired glasses made Lois dub him Hipster. 

“Yeah. Your money!” Great. This one sounded like a Saturday Morning special villain. Lois was just going to go ahead and call him Special. 

She rolled her eyes at both of them. “Boys,” she struggled to not sound patronizing. She wasn’t sure she succeeded. “I’m jogging. I’m not carrying any money.” She really didn’t want to be dealing with this. Clark was off planet so she had to pick up all his slack at the Daily Planet. Today was going to be frantic enough without this.

“We ain’t dumb, bitch. You gotta purse,” sputtered Special. 

“It’s a backpack,” Lois said fixedly, “and it is filled with my keys, a water bottle, and a granola bar because I am  _ jogging. _ ”

Hipster flicked the knife and Special let go of Lois’s arm and struck her in the face. She staggered, hissing in pain as the world shifted. She’d had worse. She could tell by the way everything settled around her instead of floating in and out, but she hated getting punched in the face. It made her blow through her more expensive foundations. 

“Watch your tone,” Hipster said coolly. He was far too composed, too professional, for this to be a crime of opportunity. Lois varied her route so this had to be personal. Guy was either a sicko, someone she’d pissed off, or hired by someone she’d pissed off. Given that her little interview with Luthor had caused a two percent drop in his stock value, Lois had a pretty good guess of which option it was. “Grab her bag.”

She didn’t struggle as her bag was slid off her shoulders, letting the thin straps slide over her fingers before she spun and drove her knee straight into Special’s groin. She caught her backpack with one hand. Hipster lunged towards her but she’d expected that, so she was already kicking herself away. He stumbled into Special and as her hand dove into a side pocket.    
  
“It also has a taser.” She flicked a switch and drove it into Hipster’s arm. Special tried to crawl away, one hand on his groin.

Lois tasered him too. 

Well, there went her morning. She was going to have to call the cops and give a statement. They were probably as tired as running into her as she was of them and she didn’t have Clark or Jimmy to do a coffee run to butter Metropolis’s finest up. 

She grumbled, resisting the urge to kick Hipster in the face and reached into her bag, pulling out her phone with the intention of dialing the precinct, they’d given her the direct number so she’d quit clogging up the emergency line, but was surprised to see a text message from a private number. Normally people didn’t follow up their attempts on her safety with gloats or threats until after it had been announced that she was fine. 

Ever the reporter, she flipped it open. 

_ Clark’s been keeping secrets. Tomorrow, noon, Centennial Park by Lickity Splits. That is, if you want to meet him. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ _

Meet him?

Lois’s mind was already trying to tease out the threads to weave a story. The text was playful. Lickity Splits was a local treasure, not really known to tourists despite the fact that they had the best banana splits in town, and the emoticon had been a deliberate choice. 

Meet  _ him _ ?

That was what really caught Lois’s attention. Not, ‘let me tell you’ or ‘what would you pay for this to stay secret’, but the secret itself actually being a person. Clark hadn’t confided anything like that to her, and he was off planet so it wasn’t like this person could slap a pair of glasses on Superman and reveal his identity. 

Meet him. 

Well. It looked like Lois had a lunch date.

X-x-x-x-x-x-

“You’re up to something,” Bart said suspiciously.

“I’m not,” Conner said far too defensively, even to his own ears. Bart was in his room again. Uninvited, again. And Conner needed help picking a shirt but didn’t want to make it weird by asking Bart, who was already peppering him with too many questions. 

“My dude,” Bart raised an eyebrow in judgement as he bounced on Conner’s bed, “leave the lying to Tim because you are _ terrible _ at it. How did we not get caught tearing up the Light?”

“You did,” Conner said flatly. “I caught you and then Jason caught us.” He was torn between wanting to look his best and wear a collar, or wanting to be authentic and wear a t-shirt. Tim hadn’t been any help, though Conner could grudgingly admit that Tim was rightfully preoccupied with all the final details. He was supposed to have sent the reporter lady a text this morning.

“So you suck at keeping secrets and I’ve caught you. Out with it. Does it have anything to do with the fact that you’re off of tonight’s mission roster?”

“I’m meeting an old high school friend for coffee.” He’d recently reconnected with Wendy so it was plausible, and the last time they’d met up they snapped a selfie together. Conner could use that as photographic proof if he needed any. 

Bart didn’t look impressed. “You’re lying to me. I know you’re lying to me. You know I know you’re lying to me, so just come clean. What’s going on?”

Conner sighed and set both shirts on the bed. “I’m lying to you and I won’t tell you the truth. Stop asking.”

“Better,” Bart flopped down and sprawled. “Are you going as Tim’s back up?”

Conner rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s going as mine.”

“That’s just weird. How dangerous?”

Conner sighed and let his hand drop. He reached into his closet and pulled out another shirt. “It’s not.”

Bart snorted and rolled so that he was lying on his stomach, kicking his legs in the air. “Tim’s involved.”

“Point,” Conner admitted. “It’s no more dangerous than hanging out with Tim in civilian circumstances.”

Bart let out a long suffering sigh. “Fine fine. You guys go do your thing. But next time don’t lie about lying to me. I’m not stupid.” There was clear hurt in his tone. “I’ve got your guys’ back.” 

Conner grabbed the first t-shirt he’d started with, the red one he’d worn on the date with Tim. “We get that. It’s just. Private.” Intimate. “I promise I’ll tell you when I can, okay?”

“Fine,” Bart harrumphed. It was clearly not fine but there was little Conner could do now. 

He looked down as his phone rang, feeling shaky. This was his last chance to back out, to make sure the genie never came out of this bottle. 

He answered. “Hey Conner, are you ready?”   
  
“Yeah.” The word was accompanied by a nod Tim couldn’t see. 

There was a moment of hesitation on the other line. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. It’s your choice.” Conner turned his back towards Bart so the speedster couldn’t see his dopey smile, couldn’t tell he was feeling all warm about Tim asking Conner about a boundary. But underneath the mush he was currently feeling iron cured and set. Superman had blustered his way into their relationship and upset the balance they were finding together, as though he had any right. Tim was correct. There needed to be repercussions. 

“I’m ready.”   


  
Clark Kent could go fuck himself. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a LOT of people are freaking out right now. A lot of your questions are those things that you are going to have to wait until the end of the story to find out. Some of you may not like where this seems to be headed, but coming out is complicated and scary and I'm going to capture that as best I can, even if it hurts. Because a lot of the time coming out hurts, even if its only a little bit.
> 
> if you wanna chat further you are gonna have to hit up my discord
> 
> https://discord.gg/u8Zq6TN


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge goes best with desserts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware that this is not how a pie crust is made. Do I know how to actually make one? No. But I know what not to do.

“We don’t have to do this,” Tim said, but Conner could see how badly Tim wanted this, as if it was written into every fiber of his being. “No one will be any wiser if we pull out now.”

Conner stared out the window as the country road slid by, the flat landscape measured in telephone poles. Crops lined the roads, rippling like ocean currents in the breeze. It was so different from Rhode Island. He knew it would be. In a way he had been here before. But never by car and never in a situation where he could look at the scenery with anything other than a hero’s eyes. 

“Conner?” Tim asked, hesitant. Tim was like a giant stupid puppy. He’d been tearing into everything but now that Conner had pointed out that there was a boundary, Tim was sniffing, looking for exactly where the line lay and he was being so sensitive about it that Conner wanted to just wrap him in his arms and hold him forever. 

“I’d know,” Conner said softly. He’d have to live with walking away from this moment. Yeah, it was a chance to show Superman up, to get in his face and scream ‘I am here!’ but it was also a chance to finally have a family. He’d thought he’d had one with the Team but they all floated away to do their own thing until it sometimes felt like the only commonality was the missions they ran. He wanted it. He wanted it badly enough to reach for it even at the risk of being rejected once again. 

He gave Tim a smile. “Besides, you promised there’d be pie.”

“The best in the country,” Tim assured, his hands gripped loosely on the steering wheel on their car, which Tim had definitely rented under a fake ID. He seemed to have a lot of those. “We’ll be there in about ten minutes.”   
  
Ten minutes was an impossible amount of time when confronting destiny, but Tim filled it with easy chatter, and before Conner was ready they were pulling up to a house that was both familiar and not. It looked… friendlier, though that may have just been wishful thinking. 

Or not arriving in the dead of night with a blood soaked Tim. 

Conner expected a minute to steady himself before going up to knock on the door, but a man in plaid and denim appeared around the corner of the house using an oil splashed rag to wipe his hands. He shaded his brow and waved at the pair, despite the sun being in his eyes. Tim took a look at Conner, smiled and touched his knee, before leaving the safety of the car to greet the man. Conner took a quick breath and threw the door open. 

He could tell the exact moment the man spotted Conner. His eyebrows shot up with some form of recognition and the filthy cloth fell unceremoniously to the earth. “Martha!” He called as he jogged towards Conner. “Martha you need to get out here!” Conner didn’t move when the man put his hands on Conner’s shoulders, didn’t pull back or lean in. He tried not to scowl but he loathed being looked at as though he was being studied. 

And this man was definitely studying him. 

A very familiar woman stepped onto the porch. “What’s got you so worked up that you can’t come inside and get me instead of hollering loud enough to disturb the neighbors?” Inside of answering Martha Kent the man, Tim had said his name was Jonathan, took a step back so she could get a good look at Conner for herself. 

She planted her arms on her hips and gave Conner an unimpressed look, before turning to Tim. “Bruce, you promised me that if Clark ever got into more trouble than you two could handle you would call me instead of giving me a heart attack on my own doorstep,” she reprimanded.

She thought Tim was Bruce. 

She was taking that tone with Bruce Wayne.

She was  _ willing _ to scold Batman.    
  


“Now, Martha,” Jonathan said calmly, “let’s not be too hasty. The boys deserve a chance to explain.”

Tim flipped his gaze to Conner, a clear question in his eyes.  _ Am I explaining or are you? _

Conner answered it by opening his mouth. “I’m not Clark.” He wasn’t. He wasn’t Clark and he was done living in the man’s shadow, “My name is Conner Kent.”

There was a quiet pause.

"Oh good Lord," Jonathan whispered almost reverently but it was Martha's reaction that stuck Conner the most. 

It was as though she slowly unfolded, her arms dropping as warmth infused her body. A smile, a bright, welcoming smile, the type that he’d only ever received from Tim, spread across her face and she stepped off of the porch. “Nice to meet you, Conner.” She practically radiated joy and it was all directed at him. “My name’s Martha.” She pulled him into a comforting hug. 

“But you can call me Ma.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Five minutes later Conner was at the counter slicing apples as fast as Tim could peel them from the table, which was admittedly slow. Conner was fairly certain Tim had never tried to do anything related to baking in his life considering the angle he’d first tried to hold the peeler at. Martha was working on making a pie dough, and she ordered Jonathan to get on making some lemonade. Given that Conner could clearly smell that there was another pie in the oven already, he figured that Martha was one of those people who baked away her feelings. 

“So Conner,” Jonathan started, still in that perfectly calm voice he’d used outside. His comment must have been entirely of surprise because he’d wrapped Conner in a hug just as tightly as Martha had the moment she’d let go. “Tell me about yourself.”

He let go of the knife and put his hands flat on the counter so he didn’t break anything out of stress. What did they think he was? He looked like Clark but he was too old to be his son. Had they just not thought about it? “I’m Superman’s clone.” The words still tasted bitter, still reminded him of those first few seconds, where Superman had looked at him and then turned away. 

“Alright,” Jonathon said with easy acceptance, “but I more meant: what are your hobbies? Favorite foods? What sports team do you like?”

Martha snorted, “Oh you lay off the boy about sports teams.”   
  
“Martha,” Joanthan said in a serious tone that had a playful edge underneath, “I need to know exactly what I’m working with here. Has anyone introduced the young man here to football and if so have they taught him to cheer for the wrong team?”

Conner curled his fingers, curled not to gouge the wood. “I, uh, don’t like football,” he admitted, closing his eyes as he awaited a rebuke. 

“Thank the Lord for that,” Martha said. “It’s bad enough listening to Jonathon and Clark go on and on about it, I don’t need another one under this roof.”

His eyes blinked open and he looked at Martha, who was focused on working her pie dough. Not him. Her words weren’t to placate him or make him feel welcome. They were a simple truth, spoken as though he was, at the very least, a family friend. He felt tension he didn’t know he was carrying drain out of his shoulders, and he was able to pick up an apple without fear of turning it into pulp.    
  
“I like…” Conner trailed off with a frown as he sliced the apple. What did he like? Baking was something he knew how to do but it had always been M’gann’s thing and he was pretty sure that telling them he liked sitting around watching No Signal wasn’t going to endear them to him. He couldn’t really tell them about Sphere, and he definitely wasn’t going to tell them about Tim, but he needed to say something.

“It’s alright if you haven’t got that figured out yet,” Jonathan said before Conner could respond. The older man shrugged. “The whole world’s probably pretty new to you. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I’m six!” Conner snapped. Both of the Kents looked at him in surprise and Conner blushed, hanging his head in shame. They were so nice and he had no reason to be an ass to them. “Sorry,” he muttered, dumping his chopped apple into a bowl. 

“You’re six,” Martha said emotionlessly.

Conner took another apple from Tim, giving it all of his focus instead of meeting anyone’s gaze. “Yeah,” he said, offering the world to the now stifling atmosphere. He didn’t know what to tell them, what they wanted from him. He should have kept his mouth shut. 

But Tim was here, and Tim always knew what to say. “Clark met him the day he was born.”

Conner could hear the jump on both their heart rates and he was prepared to be shown the door. After all, if he wasn’t good enough for Clark, then why would he be good enough for the people who raised him. 

“Well,” Martha said and there was definite heat in her tone. Conner could feel himself shrink as he braced for condementation, “then we’ve got six years to catch up on.”

“What?” Conner asked. “You aren’t...mad?” Martha raised her eyebrows, and Conner felt compelled to explain. “I just thought- I’m not good enough for Superman, and I thought once you knew that-”

“Sweetie,” Martha said, abandoning her crust so she could pull Conner into a hug. It was a lot like being hugged by Tim, warm and sincere and so  _ loving _ that he could feel moisture gather around his eyes. He tried to blink it away, to stop it from trailing down his face. He knew he’d failed when, as she pulled back, Martha put a hand under his eye and wiped at his cheek. “This family is built on finding people and loving them. You aren’t any exception, and Clark and I are going to have  _ words _ about him not bringing you around here.”

“Strong words,” Jonathan echoed. 

Conner felt overloaded. Absolutely bewildered. He’d hoped for something, but not this. Not this unconditional acceptance. It couldn’t be true. There had to be a limit. 

“I’m part Lex Luthor,” Conner blurted, and at the table Tim facepalmed. But Conner needed to know now. He couldn’t have this all crumble when he’d gotten attached to it. 

Jonathan sighed. “And here I’d said I’d eat my boot if that man ever did anything good for this family.”

“I’m just glad you inherited Clark’s hair,” Martha said. Tim’s strangled laugh manifested as a snort. “Now, what’s your favorite kind of pie?” She grabbed a rolling pin and started to flatten the dough. Tim passed Conner another apple for Conner to cut.

Conner shrugged. “The only pie I’ve eaten was made by my ex and she… wasn’t the best cook.” Everything M’gann made usually tasted a muddy brown. 

Jonathan gave a wolfish grin. “Oh Lordy. Martha, you are about to ruin this poor boy. He’ll never be able to find pie that beats yours.”

“Then it's a good thing that he can always swing by here.” A timer dinged. “And that will be the raspberry.” Martha grabbed her mitts and pulled out her first pie of the day. She set it on the cooling rack and stared at it as though making a grand decision. “You’ll try them both,” Martha declared, “and you’ll take the one you like best home with you.”

The knife slid and if Conner had been human it would have taken a chunk out of his fingers. “What?” 

“A growing boy needs pie,” Jonathan explained, as though anything that had happened in this house was perfectly natural. How had Superman come from these people? How were they even real? 

“Um, thank you?” He coughed to clear his throat. “Thank you,’ he said more clearly, hopefully in a tone that conveyed his emotions. 

Martha shot him a glance that he couldn’t interpret before she let a hum. “Do you boys have plans? Because you could always spend the night.” 

Conner shot a panicked look at Tim who looked just as out of sorts as Conner did. Wasn’t Tim the one with all the plans? How had he not considered this?! This was not Conner’s field! He was better at punching stuff!

“I think we’ll have to pass this time,” Tim said dimpolatically as he skinned the apple. “We have to be somewhere by noon tomorrow, but we can stay pretty late, for you to catch up.” Right. They were meeting Lois Lane. Clark Kent’s reporter friend. Tim wasn’t sure if she knew about Superman or not so he wasn’t sure from what angle she’d approach. Tim was planning on handling it as professionally as possible until they knew.

“You’re always welcome to spend as much time as you want here,” Jonathan said as he finished with the last lemon. He walked over to the cupboards and grabbed some sugar and a measuring cup. “If you want I can show you around the yard. There are a few things to tinker with in the barn and Martha’s greenhouse is always a sight.”   
  
“Thank you, Jonathan,” Conner said, heart swelling. 

“Now now,” Jonathan chasitized. “We’re all family here. You boys call me Pa. Both of you,” he pointed the measuring cup meaningfully at Tim.

“Pa,” Conner tested the word, tasting it. It was… good. A word to roll over in his mouth and savor. “Thanks, Pa,” he said abashedly. 

“Yes, Mr. Kent,” Tim responded cheekily and Ma laughed. 

“I can tell you’re Bruce’s. That man has a contrary streak a-”   
  
Whatever Ma was going to say next was cut off by a hiss and the clatter of plastic against the wood floor. Conner spun to see blood well up from Tim’s hand. Without thinking he grabbed Tim’s wrist, elevating it into the air and placing his other arm under Tim’s armpit, pulling Tim tight so his back was Conner’s chest. He practically carried Tim to the sink and let go of Tim’s wrist only to turn the water on, recapturing Tim’s hand to run under the water. 

“Conner, it’s fine! It’s just a small cut. Seriously, I’ve had worse.”

“I need an antiseptic!” Conner called out, twisting Tim’s hand to expose as much of the cut as possible to the water. He had no idea if apples increased the risk of infection. “And an antibacterial ointment if you have one.” He heard more than saw Jonathan take the stairs to the bathroom. 

“Conner! Chill!” Tim snapped, trying to wriggle free. Conner just tightened his grip 

Conner shook his head. “It’s part of the Buddy Rule. Full field treatment until you can be checked over by a professional.”

“It’s a cut!” Tim growled in exasperation. It was just a cut. Deep enough to be painful but not something that would need stitches. 

Ma took a step into their space and held her hand out. Conner offered Tim’s for inspection despite the fact he didn’t think she was a professional. She turned it over, studying the wound. “It doesn't look bad. I’m sure Tim will be fine.”

“He doesn’t have a spleen!” Conner disclosed with a crack in his voice. “He’s got no immune system.”

“I have a weakened immune system,” Tim grumped. He’d stopped squirming and had melted into Conner’s grip, surrendering to the fact that he was going to be there until Conner felt better about his hand. “And I never told you that.”

“Dick did. When he established the Buddy Rule.”

Tim pushed himself a little deeper into Conner’s grip. “Well Dick’s going to hate his ringtone for the next year.”

Pa gained the room’s attention as he stepped in carrying a first-aid kit. He blinked, as though the scene before him had changed drastically in the minute that he was gone. “You boys are together?”

He felt Tim’s breath hitch and pulled him closer, dropping his hand off of Tim’s arm and wrapping it around his chest. Tim safe in his embrace, Conner lifted his chin and bared his teeth, daring the man to say anything. 

Ma surged forward and wrapped both the boys in a hug, squishing Tim in the middle. “You boys are  _ adorable _ together.” She pulled back, and Tim comically gasped for breath. “Bruce must be furious that one of his sons has fallen for a relative of Clark. Their rivalry is something else.” 

“It isn’t Bruce who has a problem with it,” Conner groused as he lifted Tim much like a child carrying a kitten. Tim endured it with waning tolerance. They both missed the way the Kents’ mouths tightened. 

Jonathan gently took Tim’s fingers, looking them over with a deliberate consideration, before dumping hydrogen peroxide over the cut. Tim hissed in pain and displeasure, but he could get over it. It was better than gangrene taking his hand. “That is pretty deep,” Pa said as he spread ointment over it. “I didn’t know you could cut yourself that bad with a peeler. The darn thing is plastic.”

“Tim has a way of defying the odds,” Conner said dryly, once again relaxing at the calm acceptance in the room. There was anger. Conner was furious,  _ enraged _ , that Superman had deprived him from this for so long, but he had it now, and in the time that he’d been here they’d learned as much about him as Superman knew, and they treated each piece of information like a treasure. 

It was astonishing and Conner loved it. 

“Well,” Martha said drolly, “next time we’ll put Tim in charge of making the lemonade. That’s a safe enough job.”

“I’m not that bad,” Tim whined.

Conner hid his smile in Tim’s neck.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Lex set the police report down with a sigh. Damn Lane. She’d been hit once before subduing Lex’s man and she’d done it  _ without _ Superman’s interference. The point of the incident had been to knock her down a peg, not bolster her confidence. 

Good help was so hard to find.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he ordered, ready to ream out the next person to set foot in his office whether they came bearing good news or not.    
  
“Sir,” Mercy stepped inside and shut the door, placing herself in front of Lex’s desk and waiting for the man to order her to speak. While liking people was beneath Lex, he did… appreciate Mercy. She was tuned to his moods and was actually competent, compared to most of the people Lex had ever met. 

“Well?” he ordered. Competent or not he had things to do today. 

“Production is ahead of schedule. The contact with our...allies,” Lex wasn’t going to punish Mercy for his distaste. He shared it, but victory often came at a cost, “are interested in participating and not asking questions about where the decisions are coming from. They are, however, requesting additional resources to suit your timeline. 

This news was pleasing enough to erase the foul mood Lane had left him in. “Dismissed, Mercy.”

Lex loved it when things came together. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

If Bruce Wayne was Lex Luthor, he would have hired someone to take Vicki Vale out and be done with that woman. As he was not a psychotic supervillain, there was little more he could do than twitch at the morning headlines.    
  
**It’s Wayning Rainbows**

_ By Vicki Vale _

_ Yesterday, Billionaire Bachelor Bruce Wayne was spotted visiting the Gotham City Pride Centre. What has brought Mr Wayne, father of four, the Pride Centre can only be speculated on at this point, it is pertinent to note that of his four children, three are currently not enrolled in either a public or a private institution of learning. While the Wayne family has proclaimed that the children, Jason (16), Tim (16) and Damian (8) all require a period of social adjustment before returning to education, it is also pertinent to note that Tim Wayne has not accompanied his family to any recent family events. While the Waynes have made remarks that Tim’s limited appearances have been related to the severe injuries he sustained last year during the attack at Troisième Espace, is it possible that he is instead the black sheep of the family being tucked away to prevent yet another Wayne scandal? _

_   
_ _ And does this have anything to do with Mr Wayne’s afternoon visit? Here are what local Gothamites have to say… _

He’d known people were going to talk but he had no idea that Vicki would hit so close to the truth with so little information. His people were already spinning it, but he needed the attention away from Tim as soon as possible.

“Distraction.” Bruce glanced up, too well trained to be startled and too stubborn to admit that for a moment his pulse had escalated. 

“Hello, Cass,” he said cautiously. She hadn’t spoken to him since he and Tim’s fight. 

She pointed down at the tablet in Bruce’s hand before back up at herself. “Distraction. Keep Tim safe.”

Bruce drummed his fingers. That could work. He had the details of Cass’s adoption already worked out. At this point it was a simple matter of filing them, and Bruce Wayne adopting yet another child that he once again pulled out of nowhere was always Gotham’s favorite bite of gossip. 

But the matter wasn’t that simple. 

“Cass,” Bruce said as kindly as he could. He had no idea how sensitive she was about it. “They’ll attack you for your speech impediment.”

She tilted her head at him before giving Bruce a light smile. It was amazing how much younger it made her face look. She drummed a hand on her chest. “I’m strong. Not dumb. I’ll be fine.”

Their eyes met and Bruce nodded, trusting her to know her limits. She had likely already been through this in the other universe, with a Bruce who didn’t have her back. But that wasn’t the only issue. “They’ll assume I went to the Centre because of you.”

“Oh no,” Cass drawled sarcastically, making Bruce laugh. 

He grinned at her. “You’ll have to wear heels.”

She smiled mischievously. “Take them off. Scandal. Good times.”

“The best of times,” Bruce agreed. He was going to need to ply his PR department with raises and alcohol because Operation Distraction was a go. 

x-x-x-x-x-x

It took Lois less than five seconds to spot who had set up the meeting because someone sitting at a patio table looked like a goddamn clone of Clark Fucking Kent. A moody teenaged version, with a scowl that matched the bomber jacket he was wearing, but still unmistakable.

Next to him sat a rich kid who’s sunglasses cost more than Lois’s entire outfit and even though his eyes were hidden she could tell that he’d already spotted her and was waiting for her to make the approach at her own pace. He had that arrogant air that only old money could buy and he swung his arms around the back of his own chair, challenging her to walk away. 

He reminded her of someone. 

But Lois had never walked away from anything in her life. She sat down without preamble. “How are you connected to Clark?”

The scowly teen bared his teeth, but it was defensive, not aggressive. Like a dog that had been kicked too many times. The rich kid, Shades, placed a hand on the snarling one’s forearm and moody Not Clark instantly relaxed, though he didn’t look any less displeased than he had a moment ago. 

“Little brother,” Shades said smoothly, his cadence familiar and honeyed. “Clark’s been a little too busy to introduce Conner here to everyone, so we decided to be proactive.”

“Right,” Lois said, arching an eyebrow. Her entire job was to sniff out what stank and this smelled to high heaven. Little brother her ass. Clark was the only survivor of his entire race. And he was out of town. 

There was no way that Lex didn’t have his hands in this. “And you’ve just-”

Lois was cut off as a waitress started laying out food before them. The boys were both served sundaes and in front of Lois was set a chocolate funnel cake topped with cherry ice cream. 

Her favorite. 

Luthor was definitely involved. She studied Shades. “What did you say your name was?” she asked suspiciously. He wore his brand names with the type of ease found in old money. Or an excellent con. 

“Alvin. Alvin Draper.” His smile was congenial and his words sounded honest, which instantly made Lois mistrustful. They also didn’t ring any bells. 

“Alright, ‘Alvin’. I suppose it's merely a coincidence that Clark is out of town with his freelance work while Conner decided to introduce himself.” She let her voice fill with derision. 

Unexpectedly, Conner flinched. “This was a bad idea,” he muttered angrily. “We should go.” He pushed back his chair. 

Suddenly Alvin shifted like water pouring into a different shaped cup, washing away the rich boy attitude. “Are you sure?” he asked with concern. “This will be our only shot. Take ten seconds to think about it, and if going is what you want then we’ll go.”

Lois tapped her fingers. What did she know? Alvin. Rich kid, oddly familiar. Conner, definitely shares some genes with Clark. Cranky. Clark’s out of town. They know Clark’s out of town. 

Clark’s out of town doing Superman stuff. 

She pinched her nose. “You’re Tim Wayne.”

They both snapped to attention like a pair of meerkats, Tim wearing an expression of confused curiosity like he’d never heard that name in his life. Conner looked one step away from grabbing Tim and bolting. 

“Tim Wayne? Why would you think that?”

Lois gave him her most unimpressed look. “The text? The move with the ice cream? Setting this meet up while Clark just happens to be unavailable? All classic Bruce. I’ve already met Dick and Jay and I’ve seen enough photos to know you have a few years on Damian. Jig’s up.”

Once again he flowed into a different person, the same way Bruce did, maybe better. He slid off his shades and sure enough, underneath were arctic blue eyes. They burned with a cold intelligence and Lois wasn’t sure who it reminded her of more: Bruce or Lex. 

Intriguing. 

“So you know about Clark’s night job?” he confirmed, head cocked to the side. 

Lois nodded. “Oh, I’m aware of his habit of running around in his pyjamas. So, what’s the real story?” She folded her arms and tapped her manicured nails on her sleeve impatiently. 

“I’m Superman’s clone,” Conner said, as though the words were acid on his tongue.

Ha. Called it. “And you’re Bruce’s?”    
  
Tim raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been getting that a lot lately but no. He’s just my guardian.”

Lois was pretty sure the stories she had read said blood son. A question for another time. “And you decided that it was a good idea to meet me because…?”

Tim opened his mouth but clicked it shut when Conner shook his head. “Clark,” and wow was there anger there, “shared a secret of ours that he had no business revealing. So I’m returning the favor.” The kid was picking up steam, his voice rushing faster and burning darker with every word. “I let him keep me a secret for over half a decade and he stumbles across one of mine and tells everyone within minutes. Maybe I wouldn’t care if it was just my secret, but it was Tim’s too and he had no right. He’s made it clear he wants me out of his life; he has no right to jump into mine.

“So we’re here to meet you, just like we met Ma and Pa. Because if I don’t get to have a dirty little secret, then I’m not going to  _ be  _ a dirty little secret,” he finished, daring her to challenge him on this.

Waiting for her to hit him. Maybe not physically but he was a teenager. Words could devastate teenagers. 

Had devastated this one. 

What the fuck had Clark done?

“Let me get this straight,” she picked up her fork because she was going to need the sugar to deal with this, “you’re a clone of Clark and he’s known about you for over six years.”.    
  
They nodded in unison, like two bobble heads. It was weirdly endearing. 

She started cutting the funnel cake into pieces with her spoon. “When did you meet Martha and Jonathan?”

Conner stuck his kid out. “Yesterday,” he said defiantly. 

Well. Lois had just become a widow, which was probably for the best because she would really hate to go to jail for murdering her husband. Ignoring the fact that he’d permanently damaged a teenager’s psych, he’d failed to mention a clone that has existed for  _ longer than they’d been married. _

She took another bite. Conner had shuffled his chair closer to the table, but neither of them had touched their sundaes. This one tasted like ashes. “I’m gonna kill him,” she decided loudly. If for whatever reason Martha did not end that boy Lois was going to skin him with that kryptonite dagger that Bruce kept around. 

She sighed and set her spoon down. “I’m a reporter. You know I have to ask.” Conner looked apprehensive, but Tim sighed, obviously knowing where this was going. “What did he have on you?”

They had a conversation in looks, microexpressions and soft frowns. Conner set his hand on the table and Tim seemed to shrink, looking from Lois back to Conner and then to Lois again. “You can’t tell anyone,” he said, sounding oddly young, looking young. “You have to promise that you won’t tell anyone,” he practically begged, his face pale. 

Lois starred, horror growing in the pit of her stomach. She knew Clark was human. Well, had flaws. He wasn’t perfect, and he made mistakes, but this felt like it was going to be bigger than that. She looked Tim dead in the eyes. “You’re a source and I never share those.” She gave a solemn nod. “I promise.”

With a shaking hand he entwined his fingers with Conner. 

What. Had Clark. Done?

Lois didn’t understand. They’d done a story on Pride together. They’d crunched all the numbers on youth endangerment, ranging from the violence they’d face from others all the way to suicide rates. There had been interviews with kids who were living in shelters, with adults who’d come out the other side damaged but alive. They talked to advocates and sponsors and shared the history of the community. Clark had been invested in, had been passionate about, helping those people. The paper had broken up the story into seven segments, one for each day of Pride. 

She didn’t understand. 

And she couldn’t change that, couldn’t fix it. “Are you two safe?” she asked. That was the important part. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Tim was practically panting. Oh crap. She’d pushed the kid into a panic attack. 

Conner put his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Breathe,” he ordered, as though this was something that happened all the time. Considering that Tim immediately sucked in a lungful of air, maybe it was. 

Which was great. Superman outed a kid with anxiety to Batman. What a shit show. 

Tim took in another shaky breath. “Yeah. I do.” He bit his lip before continuing. “Bruce said he was cool with it, but I haven’t seen him since. Dick and Jay are supportive. So yeah. I’m safe.”

Conner shrugged. “The Team doesn’t know, and I don’t think Batman will let them throw me out of the Mountain.”

“The Mountain,” Lois said flatley, knowing that the answer to her next question was going to piss her off. “You’ve spent this entire time living in a League base?”

Conner blinked at her as though he thought it was a weird question. “Yeah. I lived there with M’gann, and once she named me I started going to school.”

The reporter in Lois wanted to ask so many more questions. Who was M’gann? How long did Conner live without a name? How was Lex involved? 

But she also wanted to make it through this without hurtling her plate because Clark wasn’t here to hit it with. 

“Okay,” Lois said decisively. “We’re going to finish our ice cream, Shades here is going to put his glasses back on and then we’re going to head to the Daily Planet. I’m sure everyone there will be thrilled to meet Clark’s little brother. Sound good?”

The both nodded once again in perfect harmony. They really were cute together.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's another ball rolling. God this story as so many moving parts. Augh. And I have a job again so I don't have time to focus on it. ᕕ( ཀ ʖ̯ ཀ)ᕗ


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't piss off PR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW-Disassociation
> 
> I'm pretty content with this one

Kaldur stood in Mount Justice, surrounded by holographic screens as he mulled over the intel they had been provided for last night’s mission.

It was inconsistent. 

The time and place had been specific enough, but their target had been described broadly enough that finding who they were supposed to surveil had been particularly difficult, but the threat level had been rated as high. What they had actually been sent to look for had been vague and easily misinterpreted, which was why they had wasted several hours watching a ship unload steel. 

It was an obvious ploy though Kaldur could not discern the motive behind it. 

There was only the barest whisper of sound and Kaldur knew the noise was merely a courtesy. “Nightwing,” he greeted. 

“Hey, Kaldur,” Nightwing said, approaching the monitors. “You asked for me?”

Kaldur nodded, turning away from the monitor to look Nightwing in the eyes, the best he could with the whites all Batmasks were equipped with. Nightwing was cautious with his identity and Kaldur only knew the color of the eyes of his friend from when they had stopped Parasite all those years ago. He could barely remember the shade of blue. 

“I did. Have you read the mission briefing?”

Nightwing sighed. “Yeah.”

Kaldur twisted his head to once again study the screens as though they would reveal their secrets, but he did not have Nightwing’s eyes. “What do you see?”

Nightwing folded his. “If this was a test we failed hard. We never should have gone out there without more information and we’re lucky that it wasn’t ambush. We were played.”

“Indeed,” Kaldur agreed, “but I am failing to understand the goal of such an act. We suffered no attack and none of the League has approached us with reprimand, though this was not done unthinkingly. There was a purpose in this, but I fail to see it.” Nightwing shifted, once again catching Kaldur’s gaze. “You have suspicions.”

His companion shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Is it the same nothing that has been bothering you for the last few days?” They had been friends for six years and trying to read Nightwing’s tells was still like trying to detect currents in churning waters. It was not Kaldur’s eyes that guided him. “They say that sharing a heavy burden makes it lighter.”

Nightwing dropped his arms and took the opportunity to run one hand through his hair. “It’s a civilian thing.”

Kaldur tilted his head, showing his gills. “You and I both know there are ways of speaking of such things without revealing too much.”

He watched as his friend struggled and Kaldur felt for him. Nightwing faced immense pressure, perhaps the greatest of all of them. The enemies of Gotham were many and varied, and he had the reputation of his mentor to live up to. While Batman felt obvious affection for Nightwing and for Robin, he was still an imposing figure. Yet with all of that Nightwing was still working hard to ensure that the wounds left by Kaldur’s deception healed as cleanly as they could. 

“Tim and the Bat’s relationship has encountered a… complication. Nothing bad!” he quickly assured Kaldur, “but you’ve met Tim.” Indeed, Kaldur had. A worthy opponent and a valuable ally, but not without his own idiosyncrasies. As competent as he was at tactics he reminded Kaldur of Conner during his early years, though Tim’s emotion was anxiety instead of Conner’s seemingly limitless rage. 

“He is not handling the situation well,” Kaldur observed. 

Nightwing shrugged. “I don’t blame him. It’s pretty complicated. But I think this,” he waved at the computers, “is probably him trying to distract me for a few hours so he could get some space. The kid’s not great at asking. I’m sorry the Team got sucked into family drama.” He held his hands up in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. 

Kaldur clapped a hand on NIghtwing’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me.” He let his hand fall.

“Soooo,” the younger teen folded his hands behind his head and tapped his foot, “how mad are you that we all got played like chumps?”

“I am pleased.” Nightwing’s surprise registered clearly. “It is a good lesson. We blindly accepted poor intel and wasted our resources on such, though the consequences could have been much more dire. I would appreciate it if you reviewed with the Team how we may learn from this and proceed in the future.” With a nod he moved to leave the room. 

Nightwing padded into the hall after him, talking as they walked along. “I thought things were getting better.”

“They have improved,” Kaldur said in an attempt at equivocation. 

“But they still aren’t good.” 

There was little point in lying to Nightwing. Kaldur knew none who possessed the skill to do so. “M’gann has accepted my return without condition. Though I am uncertain, I believe Conner has forgiven me. We are... relearning how to be friends. While Bart has been enthusiastic about my presence, Tim is who he obeys. The rest who came later still hold their suspicion close and there is a hesitancy to accept my position as Team Leader.”

“You know what would make you feel better?” Nightwing asked with a conspiratorial grin. “An Original Team Only hangout. You, me, Wally, Artemis, M’gann, and Conner. If we can find him we’ll rope Roy into it too.”

That sounded… refreshing. “I do believe I would enjoy that.” 

“Perfect.” Nightwing patted Kaldur’s back. And in the meantime don’t worry about the rest. I’ve always got your back and they’ll come around,” Nightwing assured him. “You’ve got time to put everything right.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim was standing in the office, ignoring the spot where he had vomited. The mess had long since been cleaned but he still felt a rush of embarrassment over his reaction. He was getting better, dammit. He could handle things like this.

It was the first time Tim and Bruce had been in the same room since Clark had come to the Manor and Tim could feel his walls firmly in place, ready for Bruce to have changed his mind. 

“Tim,” Bruce said flatly. 

“Bruce,” Tim echoed in the same tone. He could stay at Mount Justice for now, until he found a place. It wouldn’t be hard to get a job that paid well considering where computer security was at. White hat hacking would be a breeze. 

Bruce’s response was stiff. “Have you read a paper lately?”

“I can’t say I have.” Tim felt ice crystalize in his views. Lois had promised.  _ She had promised. _

Bruce wiped away an invisible hair from his pullover. “While in my attempt to acquire more information over… recent revelations I caught the attention of Vicki Vale. “

“Excuse me?” What the fuck? Did Bruce just out Tim to the entire city of Gotham? Oh god. Where was Tim going to go? Where could he hide?

“Breathe, Tim.” There were firm hands on his upper arms. “Five things you can see, Tim. Five things you can see!”

Tim blinked, trying to ignore the stars bursting in his vision. Bruce was standing before him, crouched down so they were eye level. “You,” Tim stuttered out. “I can see you.”

“That’s good,” Bruce crooned, “what else?”

“The desk.” That was two. Something green was peeking out from the other side of the window. “A tree. And the curtains.” One more. Only one. What was on the desk? “...is that a puzzle book?”

“Sudoku,” Bruce confirmed. “Don’t tell Alfred. Do we need to go to four things you can hear?”

Tim shook his head. “Just...don’t let go.” Tim would either have another panic attack or drive the heel of his palm into Bruce’s nose. Vicki Vale. Fuck it to hell.

“I went to the Pride Centre to discuss making donations.” Deep breaths, Tim could manage that. “Vale got her story published before our announcement was released. She's just speculating. She's got nothing to back it up.” Tim was going to throw up again in this room. It didn't matter what she had to back it up. Everyone in Gotham knew he was weird.  _ Everyone _ .

“It’s okay, Tim,” Bruce’s hands tightened painfully, enough to keep Tim grounded. “My people are on it. In the meantime, we’re announcing Cass’s adoption. It will be in tonight’s news. The gala will be in two weeks.”   
  
Tim shook his head. “They’ll think you went because of her. You’re throwing her to the wolves, Bruce. She needs time to settle here. This is an entirely different universe.”

“I get that, Ti-”

“No!” Tim violently pulled himself out of Bruce’s grip. “You don’t! You can’t!”

“I found it jarring when I visited the universe I found you in-”

“And then you left!” Tim roared. “You left and you took me with you and now I’m here and goddamn Vicki Vale knows that I’m  _ one of those people _ and she’s already telling  _ everybody.  _ “ Bruce looked stoic. He was sliding into Batman and in that moment Tim fucking hated him. “I was better off where I was! I had everything under control! It was all under control!”

“Tim,” Bruce said softly, “you were killing yourself.”

“It was my life to end!” Tim screamed. “I didn’t ask you to save me! And now I’m here and unlike you I don’t have the choice to go back! I didn’t want this! I didn’t  _ ask _ for this!  _ No one was supposed to know! Ever!” _

“And now they do,” Bruce said harshly. He sighed and his next words were gentle. “It will be okay, Tim. I know you don’t believe me now, but it is going to be okay. The only people who  _ know _ are me, Dick, and Clark.” 

“And Jay,” Tim said dully.

Bruce reached out almost timidly to lay his large hand on Tim’s shoulder. “How’d he take it?”

Tim groaned and leaned forward, planting his face against Bruce’s chest. “He tried to give me The Talk.” He felt Bruce snort. Tim sighed, slumping a little against Bruce. “Cass knows too.” 

“I’m fairly certain Cass knows everything, including what she’s getting into.” Bruce brought a hand to Tim’s head, cradling it gently. “This was her idea. No one is going to care about rumors surrounding you, especially when they are based on weak speculation, after I announce that I have adopted another child.” Bruce’s fingers twirled the hairs on the back of Tim’s neck. “It’s going to be okay, Tim.”

Tim shook his head, his face rubbing against Bruce’s silk shirt. “No it’s not.” Tim would deny that he was whining. 

“Tim, I know you’re stressed right now,” stressed did not  _ begin _ to cover it. “We need to discuss it. Clear communication.”

“No.” Tim knew he was being petulant.

Bruce’s chest rose as he sighed. “I know we’re working on boundaries, and I don’t always have a right to know, but you did just scream at me in my office, so I think I’m at the very least entitled to ask. 

“What are you thinking, Champ?”

Tim brought his arms up, wrapping them against Bruce’s sides and digging his fingers into Bruce’s shirt. “I wonder if this is why my parents hated me.”

“Tim, they didn’t hate you,” Bruce said placatingly, but he didn’t know. Tim hadn’t told him. Hadn’t told anyone. 

He scoffed. “That’s what everyone always says. ‘They loved you, Tim. They wanted what’s best for you.’ Why did they leave me behind for months at a time, Bruce?” Tim demanded, the sound of his own footsteps chasing him like a ghost. It was why he learned to move silently, so his echo didn't remind him that he was alone. “If they didn’t hate me what other reason did they have? I was running around unsupervised in Gotham at the age of  _ nine _ to take pictures of Batman and they _ never  _ noticed.”

Tim could fear Bruce’s shirt moisten beneath his face as he clung harder to the man. “I tried, Bruce. I tried so hard. I learned how to be perfect at parties. My grades were impeccable. I stayed out of trouble and I didn’t trash that goddamn mausoleum of a house.”

He was sobbing by this point. “Maybe Janet knew I was a bad investment, that she’d purchased something flawed. But not this bad. If she’d known I was  _ one of those _ people she would have arranged an accident. So don’t tell me they loved me, Bruce. I don’t want them to  _ ever  _ have loved me.”

Bruce wrapped his arms around Tim and started gently rocking them side to side. “Have you spoken to Dinah about your parents?”

“‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear.’”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Bruce said dryly. More seriously, Bruce said, “thank you for sharing, Tim. I didn’t know anything about your life before becoming Robin and I’m sorry I was insensitive.” Tim didn’t really respond, just let himself rest against Bruce’s chest, wrapped in warm arms with a hand playing with his hair. Tim’s chest felt empty and his body drained.    
  
Bruce had a plan. It would be okay. Bruce had a plan.

That was the thought Tim held onto as he drifted off into sleep. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

While Dami had mastered the art of stealth at the age of six, even Todd could have escaped the Manor unchallenged. Father was currently preoccupied with both managing the easily swayed opinion of the masses and Timothy’s emotional state. Pennyworth had fully invested himself in the organization of yet another one of Father’s last minute parties. While Dami trusted that Pennyworth was up to the task he felt no shame in exploiting the man’s distraction. 

“I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with this…” Dami’s cabbie driver said. 

The boy sniffed. “While you are certainly welcome to turn tail,” like a cur, “your moral objections will not have prevented me from achieving my goal. You will only be depriving yourself of the promised compensation.”

The man sighed. “I really don’t think a little kid like you needs a sword.”

“Your objection is noted,” Dami said, gritting his teeth so as not to sound caustic. Driving off this underling would force Dami to procure another. It would be a poor management of resources. 

Dami could feel the man struggling with himself, but human nature was naturally base and in Gotham more so. 

Sure enough, the man gave a determined nod. “Let’s do this.” He pushed open the door.

The decor was what Todd would refer to as ‘edgy’. Black walls highlighted with midnight blue art while the product was mounted to metal fences or kept behind glass cases decorated with red inlay and ruby eyes skulls. The woman running the counter had hair dyed to artificial brightness, multiple piercings in her face, and a scowl that would have impressed Mother. She did not bother to greet them or to even acknowledge them. 

Dami took it as a sign that they looked as though they didn’t belong. Good. It meant that he was successfully pulling off a façade of normal. 

Less pleasing was the merchandise. The blades that hung from the walls were fantastical and impractical, built for aesthetic rather than any degree of functionality. Dami could tell without touching them that the metal work was inferior and the designs would bring more harm to the user than to an opponent, no matter how skilled the hand wielding it. 

Dami was not impressed. This locale had been highly rated but Dami had forgotten how insipid the general public could be. 

The cabbie shifted from foot to foot. “Should I just …?”

“Find a corner to stand in and speak to no one. I shall retrieve you when I am ready to make my purchase,” Dami ordered. One thing for certain, this man was no Pennyworth. 

“Strangest five hundred dollars I’ve ever made,” Dami’s minion muttered as he wandered off. 

That taken care of, Dami ventured further into the store. Venturing in farther did reveal a more appropriate selection of weapons, some of which were beginning to approach Dami’s standards. There was a claymore that would have been promising were it not for the fact that the blade was twice his height. He hummed, gaze roaming, until it caught his eye. 

It was stored in a glass cabinet, the blood red satin beneath it an appropriate way to display such a weapon. An Ottoman saber, the blade held a single edge and curved towards the tip.The blade itself was perhaps a little long for Dami but not so much that it was beyond his ability to wield. Light caught the gleam of metal, revealing the silver to be patterned in different shades, a damascus pattern that promised strength in the metal. 

The handle was a deep red wood set with bloody garnets and the ebony guards were designed in the shape of wings. They went well with the elaborately carved pummel that bore the face of some kind of fiend. The sheath matched that aesthetic with dark inlays of monsters twisting around the wood. The user of such a blade would be inviolable. It would bring honor to the name of Wayne. 

He found his minion who was hiding where the bokkens were kept. “I have found my blade. Here is my credit card. You shall purchase it, drive me to where you picked me up, and then we shall part forever.”

“Yup. Never see each other again. Perfect.”

Dami led him over to the display case and point. His minion’s eyebrows raised. “That’s the one you want? It’s so...creepy.”

  
  
“Tt. Your input is not required. Now, if you would fetch the sales associate?”

His minion did, though the man was acting suspicious, wiping his sweating hands on his pants far too frequently. It was ridiculous. The store only suggested the minors were not allowed entry and Dami was a professional with a blade. His minion should be proud to be a part of this. They were investing in a local business. 

“That one?” the sales associate’s eyebrow clinked as she raised it, her piercings shifting. “I pegged you for a browser or a casual collector. Didn’t think you’d have the bucks to spend on that one.”

Minion shot a panicked glance towards Dami who returned it with a scornful look. “It is a gift for my brother,” a symbolic promise of safety more than physically passing it to him, but Dami believed it counted. “Money is no object.”

Both of the adults looked at Dami skeptically before the sales woman rolled her eyes. “Not like I have anything better to do.” She carefully removed the sword from the cabinet and placed it on the counter. Up close the blade was even more magnificent. She rattled off the price and Dami’s minion paled. 

“That’s a lot,” he swallowed, looking at Dami. 

Imbecile. “Which is why you are paying with credit and not coin,” Dami said derisively, passing his minion his credit card. Well, Father’s, but the man had yet to disapprove of Dami’s use. Plus the purchase was for the sake of Timothy. Minion swiped the card and entered the pin, holding his breath as it processed. There was a collective round of surprised noises as the payment was approved and Dami snorted at their skepticism. 

The dullards. 

The sales woman pulled out a long black box decorated in flaming faces and slid his sword inside. It was an appropriate resting place for such a fine blade. Dami carefully, reverently, grabbed the box from the counter. This was a fine investment. 

A fine investment indeed. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim knew that Bruce had fucked up. He wasn’t sure if Bruce knew or if the realization was one that would sneak up on him at an inopportune time, but Bruce Wayne had indubitably fucked up. 

He’d pissed off PR.    
  


Rule number one of running Wayne Enterprise.

Don’t ever _. _

_ Ever. _

Piss off PR. 

Or shit like this happens. 

What was supposed to be Cass’s coming out to Gotham’s high society gala had been morphed into Cass’s  _ Coming Out _ gala and the guest list had expanded from Gotham’s who’s who to include the upper echelon of the LGTBQ+ and queer scene. It seemed like anyone who had ever advocated or was publically out had been invited. While Bruce had been trying to do damage control and correct the assumptions of Cass’s sexuality without scenting the water, Tim knew he’d been banking on the idea that few people outside the city would be willing to arrange their entire lives around a single gala occurring with nearly no notice. 

Tim however, was reading the skyline and could see the coming shit storm that would be tonight, so he was in the kitchen drinking coffee in inappropriate quantities, the last act as just Tim before he needed to be Tim Drake. Vicki Vale would be out for blood. His, specifically, because one thing that was consistent between universes was that Vicki Vale  _ hated _ to be contradicted. She also had a ridiculously good nose for the truth and she’d dig at it like a badger if she got a sniff. 

While all eyes were on Cass, he’d still be in her sights. He needed to be at his best, or everything that Cass was sacrificing for Tim this night would be useless. 

“Master Timothy,” Alfred said. Uh oh. Full name. Did he sense that Tim was on his third pot? He might. Alfred was like that. 

Still, Tim tossed back the dregs because he  _ needed _ them. He set the cup down calmly, as though he hadn’t just done something that Alfred would terribly disapprove of, and smiled at the butler. “Hey, Alfred. What’s up?” He struggled to keep it casual. 

“This is a delicate matter that I wish to address with you, but I believe doing so in private might be best. If you would follow me?” The man’s expression gave nothing away. 

“Sure,” Tim said, intrigued but mostly nervous. The use of his full name never boded well and Tim was fairly certain the only Tim he’d ever seen Alfred haul someone away for a private chat was when he needed to ream out Bruce without little ears listening. Other than his outrageous coffee consumption in the last few hours, Tim couldn’t think of any grievous offenses he may have committed. 

Alfred led Tim to a small library, designed for no more than two people. Parallel walls were made up of white shelves and both were willed to the brim with books. At the end of the room was a comfortable looking nook that overlooked the yard. Tim hadn’t known this room existed, but now that he did it would be an utter waste for him not to use it. 

“Now, Master Timothy,” still with the full name, “it has been brought to my attention that you are engaged in a… romantic entanglement with a member of the same sex.” Tim’s breath stuttered. He hadn’t known Alfred knew. Bruce hadn’t mentioned it. No one had mentioned it. 

Tim wasn’t prepared for this. 

Alfred could obviously tell because he allowed Tim a moment to collect himself. “I have served the Wayne family faithfully for a number of years and while I am not one to judge their more… peculiar… activities, it has always been my place to offer advice.” His tone and his expression were grave. 

“The Wayne family’s power is based far more in reputation than in wealth.” Tim was intimately aware of the value of names. He’d learned this at Janet’s knees. He knew that the word Wayne could get you more than throwing money could. Tonight’s party was going to be evidence of that. “As such it is up to each member of this family to engage in proper public decorum. If one chooses to be more illicit behind closed doors then pains must be taken to ensure that private knowledge never becomes public. 

“Therefore, it is important that you tell no one of your indiscretions.” The only fucking person Tim had told was Lois goddamn Lane and he was still circling around as to whether or not that had been a fucking stupid decision. “There will be those tonight who seek to prove what is suspected and you  _ must _ guard that information.”

Alfred shifted, obviously uncomfortable with what he needed to say next, but believing it deeply enough to push onwards. “Be careful in choosing sexual partners who cannot break their silence, or if they do so, will not be believed over you. It is also crucial that you are aware of your partner’s medical history as sexual deviants are more...prone to disease.” Tim could see how carefully Alfred was choosing his words, trying his best to not offend Tim while laying down a cold reality. “So far you have done a poor job in keeping this a secret and it is imperative that you do better in the future.    
  
“For the sake of the family, you see.” 

Tim knew all this,  _ he knew _ , but having someone lay it so plainly before him caused something inside to crumble and he didn’t understand because Alfred had only spoken truth. “Thank you, Alfred, for the warning,” he said from tingly lips. “I promise I will keep my behaviour appropriate.”    
  
“Very good, Sir.” Alfred offered Tim a stiff bow and left him alone, standing in the claustrophobic room. 

Tim took in a ragged breath. And then another. And then another. Just Tim was obviously having  _ feelings _ about what Alfred had just said, but the gala was starting in a few hours and it was critical that his appearance had no flaws, so Tim Drake was there to take over. Tim could feel his nerves settle as he slid into another skin, one that was better able to cope and conceal hard truths. 

Though it was difficult to wear while he was practically naked.  _ Clothes are armor, Tim, _ Janet whispered. Sweats and a hoodie were beneath Tim Drake. He was raised for suits. He took a look at his watch, a cheap one that would not do for the evening, to check the time. While it was plenty, it was far less than he thought he’d had. Odd. His conversation with Alfred had hardly taken long at all. 

No matter. 

He let himself out of the space, closing the door behind him with a soft  _ snick _ , and headed off towards his room. On the way he passed Dick, who was leaning against a bannister, his shirt not fully buttoned and his tie undone and slung over his shoulder. He was frowning as he studied his phone. 

Tim was almost by when Dick noticed him. “Oh, hey Tim.”    
  
“Dick,” he smiled as Tim Drake. 

Dick’s expression grew concerned. Apparently it was the wrong thing to do. Foolish. Tim could not afford to start this evening on the wrong foot. “Are you alright?”

“I should ask you that,” Tim said, molding his expression into mischievousness. “You’re the one frowning at your phone as though it had personally offended you.” There. A recovery appropriate of a Drake if Drakes were prone to missteps. Tim would need to do better tonight. He needed to keep his secrets. 

For the sake of the family. 

Dick sighed. “I’m trying to organize a meetup for the original Team, but it’s a lot harder than I thought. Arty and Wally both have civilian schedules and M’gann is being weird about La’gaan not being invited.” 

Tim gave a serious nod. “Indeed, that’s quite the conundrum, but you’re a talented leader and a good friend. I’m certain you will be able to sort it out.”  _ Tell them what they want to hear. _

“Yeah,” Dick said shakily. “How about you? How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Tim said airily. “I just need to go get ready. If you’ll excuse me?” 

“Yeah. Sure.” Dick didn’t sound sure. Did he expect Tim to arrive in sweats? Tim missed that Dick took off to find Bruce the moment Tim was out of sight. 

First Tim brushed his teeth. He styled his hair with a little gel, parting it at the side and slicking it down. A variation from his usual look but one that was more formal. 

Then he did his makeup. 

It was a tool a lot of men neglected to use but if one knew how to apply it there would be no trace. Tim didn’t need it for a whole lot. Enough to darken his skin just enough to make him more photogenic, to highlight his features enough to make him appear older, and to hide the way blood moved through his cheeks. He wouldn’t allow something so simple as a blush ruin the gala. He had a reputation to uphold. 

For the sake of the family. 

Sliding into a tuxedo was as easy as putting on the Robin costume. Well, the Red Robin costume now. He studied himself in the mirror, checking his appearance for any exploitable flaws. It wouldn’t do for him to be thwarted by a clothing gaffe. He needed to uphold the Drake name. 

As he was doing a final check there was a knock on his door. “Come in,” he called. His sitting room was pristine and fit for polite company. The space that belonged to just Tim was hidden from sight. 

Bruce stepped into the room, dressed but missing his bow tie. “Hey, Tim. Just swung by to check on you. How are you, Champ?”

Did Bruce doubt Tim’s abilities? “I’m fine. It’s just a gala.”

Bruce winced. He was strange about Tim and galas. Tim was  _ good _ at galas. He had no idea why Bruce was so against him attending, or why Dinah was coming down on Bruce’s side. Tim gave him a reassuring smile. “I won’t cause any scandals,” he reassured Bruce, letting out a small laugh. 

“Tim,” Bruce said, eyes pained, “I just want you to have fun.”

_ Galas are not a place for you to have fun, Tim. It is events like these are where power is amassed and so few understand. Seize what you can and allow none to slip through your fingers.  _ “Yes, Bruce.”

Bruce reached out a hand to Tim, and then pulled back the last moment. Good. It would have been bad if Tim went onto the floor with a wrinkled tuxedo. 

They arrived fashionably late. Since the event was too large to be held at the Manor, it was the best way to ensure that Cass received the best exposure.  _ Many fools go to balls for spectacle, Tim. Use it. Twist it. And never fall for it.  _

  
The PR team had outdone themselves. The venue had a long walk up that was barricaded on the sides but allowed for complete visibility. It was lined with reporters, paparazzi, and Gothamites who wanted to catch a glimpse of the rich and famous. There were going to be best dressed lists all over the internet tomorrow. 

Cass would be number one.

They had Dick exit Bruce’s limo first, flashing his trademark smile. He helped pull Dami out, his warmth making the boy’s imperious expression look endearing instead of precocious. Jay got out next, giving the cameras his bad boy pout. Tim knew he’d been practicing it in the mirror and Tim thought that the time spent had been well worth it. 

Tim’s own turn came and he swore that the crowd’s cries jumped in volume. He smiled and waved. Easily viewed but completely out of reach.  _ Feed them poisoned fruits and don’t ever eat what you are offered.  _

He moved aside and Bruce stepped out. This time the crowd hushed, knowing that this was the moment they had been waiting for. 

He reached into the limo and Cass took his hand, guiding her into the public eye in this universe for the first time, just for the sake of the family. 

Tim would need to do better. 

The crowd exploded, cameras flashing to the point that Tim was nearly blind, but this was exactly what they’d been trying to do. Besides, the extra light would make Cass look fabulous. Her dress was designed by Katie Cheung and it was a masterpiece. A white shift overlaid with gossamer and diamonds, the skirt flaring at the end, Cass looked like a fairy princess who belonged more in a foggy meadow than the grimy city of Gotham. She positively shone. 

_ The most colorful creatures are the deadliest. _ Right now that was the Waynes.

Tim played the part, smiling, laughing, and answering every question with ‘no comment’ and a wink. When he stepped inside the venue he recalibrated, ready to deal with an entirely different type of crowd. He couldn’t make a mistake here.

For the sake of the family.  __

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, some notes on Alfred is this story is unabashedly about being queer. And sometimes the people expect to be by us no matter what are the ones who sometimes disappoint us. But this isn't going to be left here because everything is complicated. 
> 
> I'm a few chapters a head right now but there is going to be a lag on publishing them because shit's getting complicated. 
> 
> As always if you want to hang and watch me stress about writing, I have a discord at 
> 
> https://discord.gg/kxrhdPV


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gala is fine. Tim is fine. 
> 
> Everything is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think we're seeing anything new that requires a trigger warning that we haven't seen before.

Everyone was circling in the glittery room, light catching on the worn displays of status. Some spun around their partners, laughing merrily and without purpose, leafs on a breeze. They had come for a night of excitement, for fond memories to reminisce over until the next big party was held. 

Others were more deliberate, seeking company by swirling through crowd after crowd. Still focused on their own enjoyment of the evening but with direction, like sticks being carried down a river’s current. They bumped their way through the evening with gasps of delight at faces both new or familiar. They were here to network, to toss their name out there so perhaps someone would remember them when a future prospect came up. 

The final few were swimming in the current like predators, eating the unwary and carving out places on the bank as they awaited larger prey. Tim counted himself among them. He needed to be, as the rest of the family had their hands full. Given what had nearly happened at their introduction ball, Dami went nowhere by himself, though Jay seemed content for the two to haunt the snack table. Dick and Bruce were orbiting Cass, pulling her into a dance or conversation whenever the crowd she collected grew too thick or loud. 

They’d tried to do the same with Tim but he didn’t need their help. He was Tim Drake and he was made for this. He would do it perfectly. For the sake of the family.

“My wife thinks I’m not there enough for my kids! She thinks I spend too much time doing things like this and not enough at home! I would have invited her along but if she complains about me going I see no reason to bring her along. There is no pleasing that woman!” Mr Vanderkolk complained. He owned a growing chain of grocery stores but Tim was convinced by the way his eyes glued themselves to the ass of every woman who walked by that his wife was going to take it in a divorce Mr Vanderkolk didn’t see coming. Especially if Just Call Me Quinn’s smirk was anything to go buy. 

“Indeed. I find it a shame that I attend infrequently.” Quinn brought his champagne glass up to hide his expression. Amateur move. Anyone who played the game knew better than to rely on props or allude to the fact they were sleeping with their audience’s wife. Crass. They both reeked of new money. “How about you, Tim? Does your girlfriend give you the same trouble?”

Boring. It was the fifth time Tim had been asked a variation of that question. He let out a laugh. “Unfortunately I find myself still single. Bruce has been reluctant to let me out from under his eye ever since the incident at Troisième Espace, which does hinder finding love.” The men winced and Tim didn’t let the satisfaction bubble to the surface. They both searched his neck for the scar though only Quinn had a degree of subtly. 

Good. Any whispers of his lack of girlfriend would be twisted back to old gossip. He’d already heard someone whisper ‘so strong’ as he’d walked away from a gaggle of polished housewives. Even for those who were still more interested in his love life, Tim will have fostered enough sympathy that speculation would seem crass. Oh no, they’d be talking about his slit throat and the resulting lawsuit. It would be unfortunate to rehash the belief that Tim had been abused as a child, but it was a storm the Wayne family had weathered once and could do so again. It was a small sacrifice. 

For the sake of the family. 

“Tim!” A jovial Bruce barged into the conversation, placing a broad hand on Tim’s shoulder, wrinkling his tux. “I’ve been looking for you, Champ!”

Tim raised an eyebrow at his fellow party guests as if to go ‘see what I mean.’ Quinn dipped his head in a sympathetic nod that Tim caught before he greeted Bruce. “Well, I’ve been here.” He let out a light laugh, one that sounded pleased but not so loud as to draw unwarranted attention.

Bruce gave a chuckle. “So you have.” He turned to Tim’s companions. “I’m certain you won’t mind me stealing Tim away from you. There are people I want him to meet.” He barely gave Tim enough time to salute a parting before he was tugging Tim across the room. Tim was hardly surprised when Bruce tucked them behind one of the creamy curtains that hung across the edges of the room, away from prying eyes. “Tim, how are you doing?” he asked, his façade falling away. 

Tim smiled. “I’m fine, Bruce.” Bruce’s lips took a downward turn and Tim tutted him. “None of that now. People will think something is wrong.” And nothing could be wrong. Not tonight.

But Bruce was still warring with himself. Tim could see how badly Bruce wanted to send Tim home early, the way he had at the every other gala Tim had been allowed to attend. It still baffled Tim. Why bring him along before he’d been put to good use?

But tonight that wasn’t an option. Tim’s presence was necessary for the misdirection and sending him home now would be baring their necks to the wolves. Tim had no doubt that Bruce was well aware of that fact and he didn’t understand Bruce’s apparent unease with Tim’s performance tonight, his performance at any gala. This was as easy as donning any mask from Red Robin to Alvin Draper. Bruce just needed to let Tim do what Tim was good at. 

Bruce sighed, surrendering. “If you need to retreat there are several-”

Tim gave Bruce a pat on the cheek, shocking the man into silence. “I read the blueprint, Bruce. And I won’t need to hide. As I told you, I’m fine.” He was. He had no choice. He needed to be. For the sake of the family. Tim flashed another grin at Bruce before brazeningly walking off into the crowd, dropping his half full flute of champagne onto a tray before grabbing a new one in an easy gesture. 

The next conversation he jumped into was actually interesting. The husband was who the invite had gone to. He ran Gotham’s finest hotel, but it was his wife that made the exchange worth Tim’s time. Anne Nadeua was a physicist at S.T.A.R. labs who had some very interesting theories on the multiverse. Alas, Tim had to end the conversation too soon because just Tim wanted to pop out his head and contribute. 

Next was Randal Ballatyne. As an old politician, both in age and in how long he’s been in the game, the man could read his voter base like a fortune teller and her tea leaves. He knew which way the wind was blowing and, determined to be on the right side of history, was already leading the way to legal protections for the LGTBQ+ community in his state. He schmoozed. Tim schmoozed. There was a half hearted promise of watching some sort of sporting event together. 

He was about to move onto his next mark when Dick grabbed Tim by the shoulders and started dragging him off. “This way, Tim,” he said with a merry little hum. “Cass is making friends and you should too!” 

Tim played along, unable to do anything but as his careful rounds were once again interrupted by a boisterous member of the family. Dick worked their way across the floor with an arialist’s grace, weaving through the crowd without bumping and dodging conversations without offending. They finished on the opposite side of where Tim wanted to be, meaning that he’d have to map out a whole new route to speak with the people he’d had a chance to study. 

“Cass!” Dick greeted enthusiastically. “I found a wild Tim!” Dick caused the attention of every person in their small circle to snap to Tim and if it wasn’t for the fact that the entire family needed Tim to be perfect tonight he would slapped away Dick’s fingers. 

Instead he smiled the smile of the rich and powerful and glanced around the group, trying to determine why Dick had brought him here. The… person next time to Tim was a drag queen. He? She? They? Dammit, Tim didn’t know any of the protocol on this. Go with they. When in doubt, they. 

_ They _ were easily Bruce’s height and just as broad in a lavender trumpet dress that looked like someone had designed it while wishing that they were working on origami. Jutted asymmetrical folds at the hips sculpted the silhouette and the dress flared into large stiff angular ruffles. They were draped in jewellery and some of it was even real. 

Beside them was a man in a velvet vest that was a mock medieval style with a brown sash positioned crosswise over the chest. It was embroidered with gold thread that matched the painted crown on top of his head. Tim could tell he was enjoying the night by the flush in his cheeks.

The other two were… less extravagant. The African American was androgynous. For every clue about their gender going one way, there was another that led Tim in the opposite direction. While gritting his physical teeth would have been vulgar, the teeth of his soul were gritting so hard they could crack. The woman next to them was clearly coded to be female. She was short, even by Tim’s standards, and radiating a sort of background fury that had haunted the Red Hood Jason. A severe haircut that framed her face in a black square bob. The blue dress and the rainbow earrings poking out of hair did little to make her feel like anything less than a thundercloud. Tim had the sense that if she had to she’d be willing to spend a few rounds taking down Batman. 

Goddammit, Dick. Tim had a list of people to converse with to lay rumors to rest. They had been meticulously researched and targeted as people of influence, pressure points in the social scene. He knew what to say, how to act. 

He didn’t know these people. There hadn’t been time to study everyone so Tim had plotted a course that would allow him to avoid everyone who wasn’t on the list. Like these people. Tim couldn’t even figure out their fucking pronouns, nevermind their names or occupations. They were also obviously involved in the LGTBQ+ community and Tim had been trying to keep himself distant to  _ squash the rumors.  _ Which was the entire fucking point of tonight.

Breathe. Tim could handle this. 

For the sake of the family. 

Tim flashed a charming grin. “Sorry about my brother’s lack of manners,” Tim said with a dramatic sigh. “He never grew up. I’m Tim Wayne but please, just call me Tim.” The drag queen and her king friend seemed to melt but the short woman grew even more tense.    
  
Dammit, Dick! 

“Well, aren’t you charming!” The drag queen drawled in an East End accent. “I’m the seventh Empress of The Gotham Imperial Sovereign Court, Thea Buttsmatch and this is King Bob.” Thea held out a hand but the angle wasn’t for a shake, so Tim gave a half bow and gently brought their knuckles to his mouth. Their giggle indicated it was the right call. 

King Bob was content with a simple handshake. 

“Hi, I’m Jaimie.” And the name provided Tim with no clues so he had to settle for just taking the hand. He was surprised by all the callouses. “I use they/them and I do outreach work at the Pride Centre. And this joyful soul is Maddy. She’s the Pride Centre Director.”  
  
Maddy held out her hand and gave Tim a firm business handshake, watching his every reaction. She stared at him the way Cass did, as though she could see past all his layers deep into his mess of scars. Her lips twitched down before softening and the stormy woman from moments ago turned into a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. 

Tim had never felt more exposed in his life. 

She knew. 

No one was supposed to know. 

Tim was supposed to be perfect for the sake of the family. Tim Drake was supposed to be a flawless masterpiece. Janet had carved him with sharp words and cutting smiles, leaving a legacy behind, yet here he was, his faultless disguise torn through like tissue paper by a single sunny smile.

She knew. 

Beside Tim, Dick was beaming like a puppy who’d chewed up a designer shoe and was expecting to be rewarded with a belly rub. “Since Wayne Enterprise is going to be donating regularly to the Pride Centre I thought it would be a great idea for everyone to be familiar with each other. I tried,” he said with a pout, “to find Jay and Dami as well, but they vanished after raiding the snack table. 

“Wise,” Cass said with a wistful nod. 

Was she going to say anything?

Thea let out a belly deep laugh. “Oh to be young again. While I’ve grown into liking the glitz,” they moved, all of their jewellery catching the light, “I do miss the days when an eclair wouldn’t go straight to these hips.”   
  


Point a finger and yell?

  
“Thea,” Maddy said with a light snap under her voice, “you are not going to spend an hour talking to the Waynes about your hips.” Judging by her tone and posture, that was a rule that had been pre-established before anything walked through the doors. 

Maybe...maybe do nothing?

Jaime, in the meantime, pulled at their collar. A red line indicated it was not the first time they’d made that gesture tonight. “Sorry about her,” oh thank god a pronoun. “Thea’s a little… well, she’s a lot.” There was a round of snorts and an offended huff. 

Okay. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she suspected. Tim could deal with people who suspected. Tim Drake, CEO, could handle new players. He had this. He could do this. 

“So Thea,” he dragged up his most professional tone. Flirty would probably work best for the interaction but not for the occasion. “You said you are the Empress of The Gotham Imperial Sovereign Court? I must confess my ignorance. What exactly does the Gotham Imperial Sovereign Court do?” 

“Besides being absolutely fabulous?” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder in a practiced move. “My and my girls do charity work all over the city. Plays, dances, stand up comedy, we do it all and all proceeds go to youth outreach programs. We work a lot with cuties like Jaime,” Jaime rolled their eyes, “providing queers resources across the city and we are good. At. it.” She snapped her fingers for punctuation and then let out a giggle. “If you’ve seen a queen she’s from my little team.”

“What we’re currently doing,” Maddy picked up, as business like as Tim, “is a trans youth camping trip. Most of the kids in Gotham have never left the city so we’ve been saving up for an opportunity to allow these kids to meet nature. The Wayne Enterprise donation will be enough for us to send twice as many kids as we thought we’d be able to send.” 

“That’s a great experience!” Dick exclaimed, almost bouncing on his feet. “I love Gotham but as a kid I have a lot of great memories of camping out in fields. 

Cass hummed before giving a decisive nod. “Plants in Gotham. Too bitey.”

This was where there was supposed to be a round of awkward laughs from the elite. Villains who existed in the night but weren’t their problem. Crime happened to other people. Either those who were too stupid to become rich or too stupid to not get caught. But the people in their crystal bubble were safe. 

There was no laughter. 

Only a dark, painful silence. 

Cass’s expression was grim as she read their faces, their bodies. “Too bitey,” she said in a tone of the utmost seriousness. 

It was, unsurprisingly, Dick who tried to bring joy back to the conversation. “It must be great to help so many kids! What other programs do you have? I bet people who are just coming out of the closet need a lot of resources. How do you help them?”

Thea, Jaime, and Bob all gave Cass a half second glance. 

Maddy’s eyes flipped to Tim.    
  
_ She knew _ . 

God. Fucking. Dammit. Dick. 

He had no right! No right! Tim could fucking handle his own goddamn shit and Dick didn’t need to be fucking manuvering him while Tim was trying to  _ protect the family name. _ The entire point of this evening was to put questions to bed, not to confirm the answers! How dare he! It was  _ Tim’s _ secret!

_ “You told Steph?!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Yes. I felt it was the correct decision.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “You had no right! It’s  _ my _ secret identity, Bruce! My secret! “ _

No. In a box. Tim Drake did not lose his cool. Tim Drake was immaculate. He was crafted marble and he felt  _ nothing _ . Tonight was about the game and this was only a small loss. He could handle this. He was fine. He was perfectly fine. 

“Snacks!” Cass declared enthusiastically, bumping Dick out of the way so she could grab Tim’s arm. “Best snacks. We find!” She lifted her arm above Tim’s head and twirled him as though he was the ballerina, spinning him until he was aimed at the banquet table across the room. 

Dick’s face knitted into confusion. “Tim just got here.”   
  
“Tim knows best snacks. I steal.” She gave a sharp nod. “You stay.” Cass’s voice had the steal of someone ordering their dog to heel, though she pulled some of the faux pas out of her display by punctuating it with a small wave. “Bye!” She gave a Drake-worthy grin before she slipped her arm under Tim’s and started dragging him to the edge of the room towards privacy, not finger foods. “Status?” She whispered under her breath.

“Fine,” Tim answered back. And he was. He was back in familiar territory. He knew these waters. He could handle this. 

She nodded and their trajectory shifted back to the table to keep their cover story intact. Cass understood that galas were  _ battlegrounds _ . 

But she wasn’t the only one. “Oh my,” came a shrill voice, “if it isn’t Bruce’s newest child!” They both turned to the woman who was demanding their attention. Hair coiffed and makeup slightly overdone, she looked like she was attending as a plus one who’d never done this kind of thing before. Her dress was a knock off, not obvious to the untrained eye but the people here were well versed in the subject and her jewellery was scarce. It was easy to pass her off as easy pickings except her shoes cost more than Tim’s watch. She knew how to play and was playing hard. 

But Tim had no fucking clue who she was. 

Damn damn damn. He’d had a route. He’d had a plan! Fuck, Dick. And fuck Bruce for pissing off the PR department because there were too many goddamn people here and Tim didn’t know them all! Was she important? A reporter in disguise? Did she suspect? 

“Where are my manners?” Rhetorical and cliché, definitely designed to get people to underestimate. “I’m Rylie Yensen.” Total blank. Maybe she was from out of town? And she could still be a plus one.

Or a plant.

“It’s so exciting to be here! And to meet the guest of the evening. Is this your first ball?” Cass nodded. A lie that was much simpler than the truth. “Oh, me too. You must tell me all about how you’re finding it!”

Cass gently pulled her arm out of Tim’s and pointed towards an empty table. “Tall shoes. Sit.”

Rylie gave a laugh that might have been genuine. “Isn’t that the truth of it!” She turned to Tim with a grin. “While I imagine your shoes aren’t quite so high,” was that a poke at his height? “Your feet must still be getting tired. Why don’t you come too?”

Tim didn’t have a chance to open his mouth to reply before Cass was pushing him and shaking her head. “Snacks!” she demanded. Tim raised his eyebrows. This woman was going to try and eat Cass alive and there was no way she didn’t know it, but by the quirk of her lips it looked like maybe she had a plan. She made a gesture that encompassed her and Rylie. “Girl talk. Shoo.”

Tim chuckled. “Well, it looks like I’ve been told. You two have fun!” Cass grabbed Rylie’s hand and started pulling her towards the table before the other woman could think of a way to rope Tim into the conversation. That was fine. Everything was fine. 

Free again, but everyone had shifted. He needed a place to scope out the room, re-centre, and rethink his plan of attack. The buffet would be a good spot to do that and he was already most of the way there. He should be able to make it without being intercepted. 

He did not.    
  
“Mr Wayne,” called a gratingly familiar voice. If there was a single person that had actively not wanted to see tonight it was this one. 

Deep breath. He could do this. For the sake of the family. 

“Miss Vale,” he said with every ounce of charm he possessed, learned both from Jack Drake and Bruce Wanye. “It’s a pleasure to see you tonight.” Her red hair was parted at the side and pinned with a jewelled barrette, the stones matching her crisp pantsuit. The press pass worn around her neck allowed her to be her with a more professional look without drawing stares. Vicki Vale was practically an institution in Gotham. 

“And a surprise to see you,” Vicki said. “You’ve attended, what, two other galas? And I do believe you left both of them early.”

“They weren’t serving crème fraîche tartlets with snail caviar,” Tim said with a casual grin. This was fine. Everything was fine. He could handle Vicki. Alfred would not be further disappointed in him. He had this. He had to have this. For the sake of the family. 

Everything was fine. 

“Let’s cut the crap,” Vicki said bluntly. Everything was fine. “Bruce was at the Pride Centre because of you.” 

_ It was his secret to tell!  _

He was a Drake and he had this.

“This party was rushed because of you.”   
  
Everything was fine. 

“And you don’t even have the courage to admit it.”

_ Everything was fine. _

“Think of all the good you could do for this city! For the state! If you would just admit it!”

_ EVERYTHING WAS FINE! _

“How long do you really think you can keep being gay a secret?”

Everything burst into static. The edges of his vision, his hearing, his skin. He could even taste it on his tongue. He said something. He could feel his mouth moving, shaping words and his throat vibrating as he expelled them, but he had no idea what they were. They made Vicki’s eyes tense and her mouth turn down and then it was her turn to talk.    
  
He didn’t hear what she said but he saw as people turned to stare, surprise and disdain smearing across their faces. More words fell from Tim’s mouth. Some of the stares turned amused. 

Vicki’s frown deepened but whatever she was about to say was cut off when a woman with bronze hair and an emerald dress stepped between them. The crowd averted their eyes, pretending as if they hadn’t borne witness to the altercation. Whatever she said was enough to put Vicki on the retreat.

She turned to Tim. He didn’t know her. He should know her. He should know what sounds were coming out of her mouth. She grabbed his arm, her fingers pressure against the static, pulling him somewhere. That was fine. He didn’t resist as she led him through a door and down a hall, pulling him into the woman’s washroom. He shouldn’t be here. The family wouldn’t want him here.    
  
But his legs were full of static. 

Maybe things weren’t okay.

Maybe….

Maybe he’d failed. 

No. No. He couldn’t have done that. He was a Drake. This was his element. 

He’d  _ promised _ Alfred. 

Someone thrust something into his hands. They cupped his, forcing him to rub the object. He was speaking again, the words becoming clearer. “It’s soft,” he was saying, “but not furry. More like silicone.” Why was he talking about silicone? He frowned, trying to focus on his hands. “Squishy.” Yes, his hands were squeezing something. “And made of circles.” More like balls, one large and one small, fused together.” As he opened his hands to see the other set drew back, leaving Tim to be alone in his confusion. 

“I’ll go find Mr Wayne,” a woman muttered and there was a swish of silk. 

It was less important than Tim’s current problem. “Why am I holding a stress ball shaped like a penguin?”

“Are you back with us?” asked a voice that was too comforting to be familiar. Who was ‘us’? He looked up.

His eyes met Janet Drake’s.

Then nothing was fine. 

The sobs that exploded out of him were deep, ugly things that shook every part of his body, knocking him off of his feet and onto the cold, dirty tile of the bathroom. Tears didn’t trickle from his eyes; they poured like an Amazonian rain. Useless apologies tumbled off of his lips like snow from winter branches. 

And Janet.

Janet. 

Wrapped him into a hug. 

Tim didn’t understand. 

He’d never been hugged by Janet. 

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay. You did fine.” She was sitting on the floor with him in a pure white dress and had shifted so she was almost holding him in her lap as she rocked them back and forth. “You did so good out there.”    
  
“I fell apart,” Tim confessed, waiting for Janet’s wrath to fall upon him. She’d made him to be better than that. “Like an amateur.”

“You did fine,” she promised, and Tim was so confused. So very confused. He sat there in her arms, stewing in his own uncertainty, as she hummed a song he’d never heard. Janet didn’t do lullabies. Not knowing what else to do he relaxed into her grip. What would happen would happen. There was no stopping Janet. 

“You’ve been taught to play the game,” she said, her voice shadowed by disappointment. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He’d failed.

She sighed. “My mother taught me how to play the game. How to work a crowd until I had every dirty little secret I could get my hands on.” Yes. Tim knew. He was supposed to have that skill. “She taught me to be perfect, to be mesmerizing and untouchable, like the Sistine Chapel, so I could find the perfect husband and become the next big player in Gotham

“And I hated  _ every _ minute.”   
  
Tim felt his muscles all lock into place. He didn’t understand. Janet was the  _ best. _ She’d wanted everything. “So I left. I moved to L.A. and did things that no Benoit would ever do. I drank. I partied. I paid my own way through school and I met and married another woman and I am  _ happy. _ As I deserve to be. As you deserve to be.” 

“But I failed,” Tim muttered, his eyes beginning to burn again. 

“Sweetie,” Janet ran a hand through his hair, “it wasn’t you who failed. It was the person who taught you that.”

But Janet had-

No. Janet was dead. This wasn’t Janet. This was not her. 

But she’d said Tim hadn’t failed in the voice of Tim’s mother, with such conviction and unshakable certainty, that he almost believed her.    
  
“The only person you need to be is yourself. The only thing you need to achieve is finding your own happiness. You don’t owe the world anything.”

Tim bit his lip, trying to stifle his crying, but it didn’t stop the tears. 

She petted his hair and hummed that song, holding Tim close until the bathroom door creaked open. 

“Tim.” That was Bruce. He’d promised Bruce he was fine. This was not fine.    
  
But Bruce was still gentle when he pulled Tim out of Janet’s arms and into his own, pushing Tim’s face against his torso, blocking Tim’s vision. Maybe he was trying to make Tim think the world had gone away, like tossing a cloth over a bird’s cage . “Thank you for your help tonight.” Bruce’s chest rumbled when he spoke and Tim leaned into it. It was soothing, like Dexter’s purrs.

“You’re sending him straight home.” Now that was the Janet he knew. 

“I am, Bruce said softly, running his fingers across Tim’s scalp. Everyone was playing with his hair. “Thank you for helping.” 

“It was Daphne who intervened.”   
  
Bruce swifted. “My thanks to both of you. Tim has stressors. We’ve been dealing with them but-”

“But the press is a monster.” There was both heat and despair in that tone. Janet had never sounded like that. 

Bruce nodded. “The press is a monster.”

Tim didn’t see what Janet did next, but he heard the click of her heels as he started walking across the tile. They paused. “That’s a good kid you’ve got there Mr Wayne. 

“Take care of him.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this fic is getting darker than I expected. It’s probably because I’m getting into a Not Great Place as one would expect with a pandemic and all that. But, yes, dark. I’m trying to find ways to lighten up but I just wanted to give everyone a heads up in case they need to step back until the world is just better.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, if you care, there is a discord to come hang out. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/kxrhdPV


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermaths are a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I warned you folks that this was gonna get dark? I wasn’t talking about chapter 8. It’s likely gonna be a bit of a plunge in the future. Some people were like "this wasn't so bad" and I was just like, no. Chapter 8 was not what I was talking about? 
> 
> Well whatever. I've done my best to warn you. Enjoy the show!
> 
> Also, discord link '  
> https://discord.gg/u8Zq6TN
> 
> .Watch chapter be written as they happen! Listen to me whine about writers block! Good times to be had!

Cass woke up curled around Tim. He was awake as well, but pretending to sleep.

Tim pretended a lot. He always seemed to be wearing someone else’s skin, but they had all fit him so well that Cass had just thought this was how Tim was supposed to be. He did so less here and Cass hadn’t understood why but she’d accepted it. She supposed that maybe it was the only way for people to get close enough to stitch up his wounds so he could go back to pretending again. 

But last night.    
  
She hadn’t realized. All this time she’d been able to see but not to understand. Dick had known. His very fingertips had worn worry whenever he spotted Tim last night and he’d tried to tuck Tim close, like a bird hiding a baby under her wing. But he’d been sloppy, ushering Tim to meet people he wasn’t ready to meet and cutting at Tim’s pretend skin. Cass had pulled him away, giving him time to pretend again. She’d thought she’d been helping. She thought that this was how Tim was supposed to be. 

She’d been wrong. 

She’d never seen how all Tim’s skins suffocated the real Tim inside, his lungs heaving for air that would never come. She hadn’t known that he wore masks not because that was something Tim chose to do but because it was something he was afraid not to. She’d had to read that in Jay’s fear and Bruce’s sad resignation. Tim wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

But he was. 

And Cass didn’t judge. 

She’d fought her way out of the dress. Left it to pool on the floor. She’d grabbed one of Tim’s shirts and crawled into his bed so she could wrap herself around her brother who had cried himself to sleep. Tim cried a lot here. He’d cried a lot there too, but only ever with his heart. This seemed… better. Here, when he was done, he hurt less. 

She was willing to wait for Tim to be ready to be awake, but Dexter was not. The cat pounced from the floor, landing on Tim’s chest before crying out loudly. He was vibrating with hungry, hungry, hungry. 

Tim threw an arm over his eye and moaned. “Yeah, yeah. Food. I’m on it.” Dexter gave a soft purr, satisfaction, before jumping off the bed and running into the ensuite. “Who the hell decided I should get a cat?” he grumbled.    
  
Cass laughed. “You did. Love cat.” She pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Get up. Get coffee. Good day.” Tim didn’t move but Cass could see that he was crying with his heart again. She placed a hand on his chest. “Hurt here. Why?”

“I failed,” he whispered. “I broke down in front of  _ Vicki Vale _ . I don’t even know what I said to her! Jay had to drive me home and tuck me in like I’m a baby. God, I’m never going to live this down. Publically or personally.”

Cass flicked his nose. “Worry too much. Bruce loves. They all love. Happy when you are happy.” 

Tim pulled himself a little closer to her, and she could feel his uncertainty. “They keep telling me that but I can’t always believe that Cass. I’m trying. I promise I’m trying. But there are days…”   
  
“Bad days,” Cass agreed. Days when there were shadows for no reason but to spook. She had them too. 

“Today is a bad day.” 

She ran her fingers through his hair, watching as he started to melt. She hadn’t known about this, until she came here. Hadn’t known that Tim liked to be touched, never mind how to touch him. 

“Today will pass,” she promised him. “Other days will be better.”

Tim sighed, etched in doubt. It did not matter if he believed. 

Today would pass. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

On the Gotham Gazette website, Bruce carefully typed in Vicki Vale’s name. He needed to know what she’d written about the night before.    
  
About his son. 

He braced himself when he saw the headline.    
  
_ A Fabulous Future. _

Deep breath. 

He clicked the link. 

And was greeted with the picture Thea Buttsmach, the drag queen who’d spent most of the evening staring at his derriere, in all of her glory. The article accompanying it was a short interview on the Sovereign Court all the shows it was running. There was a mention of what program all proceeds were going to and a website where people could donate. No mention of Tim, though Vicki did make a dig about how Gotham socialites coming out would be so valuable for the cause. 

He released the air he’d been holding in a large rush. Vicki had definitely been his greatest concern but that didn’t mean they were out of the woods yet. He navigated back to the top headlines, flipping through them. It seemed as though most were taking a moment to champion the cause of LGTBQ+ rights, though there was of course the usual gossip that came from such an event. Best dressed and worst dressed lists, a review of the caterer, and an article written in sheer horror about Cass losing her shoes. There was a piece on how it was disgusting that Gotham was opening itself up to be corrupted by ‘the gays’. Bruce made a note of the article’s author.    
  
He’d be following up on that man. 

There was one small story that could be a problem. The author had overheard the fight between Vicki and Tim. Luckily, she seemed more interested in taking down her fellow reporter rather than a child of Gotham’s favorite son. 

**_Behind the Vale_ **   
  


_ By Natasha Silverman _

_ Publically known as Gotham’s top reporter, is Vicki Vale hiding a sinister secret? Yes, if her behaviour at last night’s Wayne gala is anything to go by. The reporter confronted Tim Wayne (16) with allegations of his supposed homosexuality. Allegations, that it is important to note, have been made by no one else but Miss Vale herself. Mr Wayne showed remarkable maturity as he withstood Miss Vale’s baseless accusation and he asked a pertinent question that Gotham should be asking.  _

_  
_ _ Why is Miss Vale so desperate, as Mr Wayne put it, to project her slash fetish fantasy onto a child? Is this really who Gotham wants to be getting her news from?  _

Not awful. While it would have been preferable to the matter to be dropped entirely, hopefully this would devolve into the two reporters sniping, forgetting all about Tim. If there had to be an article written about Tim, this was the best Bruce could have hoped for. 

“How is the news?” Alfred asked as he placed the tea set before Bruce. 

Bruce hummed. “It looks like we’re in the clear.” 

Alfred lifted the tea pot and poured the drink into Bruce’s cup. “That’s quite fortunate. I was concerned when Master Jay arrived with Master Timothy that his secret had been exposed. Such exposure would be detrimental to the family.” 

Bruce set the tablet down on the table as he reached for his tea, frowning at Alfred’s odd turn of phrase. The man didn’t tend to be careless with his words. “You mean the violation of privacy would be harmful to Tim.” He lifted the cup to blow on the hot beverage. 

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “I meant what I said, sir. The entire Wayne family would be harmed by the confirmation of Master Timothy’s sexuality, though Master Timothy would bear the brunt of it. Secrecy is much more prudent regarding this matter,” he explained to Bruce factually, in the same tone he suggested that Bruce visit Wayne Enterprise. 

Something unpleasant twisting in his stomach, Bruce set the tea down, not certain he wouldn’t choke on it. “Alfred, you do realize this is not going to be a secret forever. It will only be so until Tim decides he’s comfortable publicly sharing it.”

Alfred went rigid and Bruce could see him plucking his next words carefully, like pulling shards of glass from the carpet. “While I understand and appreciate your love for Master Timothy, as I love him too, I feel as though, for once, you are looking at the world through rose-colored glasses, Master Bruce.” And wasn’t  _ that _ an accusation that Bruce had never thought he’d hear pointed his way. “I have no problem with Master Timothy’s homosexuality, but there are others who will take issue and will abandon him for it. It is imperative that no one be told.”

Alfred couldn’t mean what Bruce was beginning to think he meant. This was obviously a misunderstanding.

“No one important, Alfred. If they take issue with it they don’t deserve to be in his life.”

Alfred tutted, like Bruce was a child and missing the point. “I dare say that Mister Kent is rather important.” Through the pain of that proverbial slap, Bruce could only drag up one thought. He should have deleted that footage. “How many alliances within the Justice League are you willing to sacrifice? And what of Master Timothy himself? We have invested a great amount of time into his mental wellbeing. How many steps back will he take when members of the Team abandon him? Nevermind the way that this will affect Wayne Enterprise’s business relationships.”

Alfred gave his head a serious shake. “No,” he said firmly. “It is a much wiser course for this to remain secret.”

Punches to the head from Bane had left him less stunned. This was Alfred. His rock. His  _ father _ . How could Alfred say this?

Who had he said it to?

Tim’s pod person persona had been in full swing but had an almost manic edge to it that Bruce had never seen before. He’d attributed it to the stress of so many people being there, but what if it had been something else?

“Alfred,” Bruce asked, dreading the answer, “did you tell Tim all this?”

“I told Master Timothy all that he needed to know to safeguard himself and the family name,” Alfred said coldly, obviously as upset by this conversation as Bruce was. “He understands,” the ‘better than you’ was implied. 

Bruce didn’t- He didn’t understand at all. Alfred had raised him, was helping him raise his children and he’d  _ hurt Tim _ . Alfred, the best human being that Bruce knew,  _ had hurt Tim. _ Bruce had no plan, he’d made no file, because he had never in his life imagined a scenario where Alfred could be so wrong. 

And Bruce had no idea what to do about it. 

“Get out,” Bruce snapped. He couldn’t solve this while Alfred was in the room. 

“Very good, Sir,” the butler offered in a clipped tone with a half bow. The way he whisked himself out of the room proved he wanted to be in Bruce’s presence as much as Bruce wanted him there.

The moment the door closed Bruce sunk his hands into his face. He didn’t know what to do. 

He was  _ Batman _ .

_ And he didn’t know what to do. _

Bruce fished out his cellphone like it was a life line. 

  
Maddy.

Maddy would know. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Luthor stood staring out over the city, his shoulders relaxed. 

“It’s ready, Mr Luthor. Are our associates acting tonight?”

“No, Mercy.” Superman was still off planet. Lex needed him here, so he couldn’t explain his way out of why he wasn’t good enough. Why the League wasn’t good enough. 

“Not tonight. But soon.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x 

If it had been up to Tim he would have spent all day lying in bed, his brain left in that space somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, allowing the day to drift by without a thought crowding his head. 

But apparently the universe had assigned Cass to be his life’s manager because she placed a foot on his hip and  _ pushed _ knocking him out of the bed and onto the floor. Dexter had seen the move coming because the cat jumped off moments before it happened, making a beeline for the door. As he moaned in displeasure he could hear Cass sorting through the clothes on his floor. After a minute or so a pair of jeans came sailing over the bed, landing on Tim’s face with a  _ thump _ . It was quickly followed by a t-shirt and a hoodie. 

“Five minutes,” Cass threatened. The door behind her closed with a snick. 

While all Tim wanted to do was lay on his floor and wallow, he knew Cass well enough to understand that if he wasn’t ready within the timeline, she’d grow progressively more  _ aggressive _ . So he sluggishly pulled on his pants and slipped the shirt over his head. The hoodie was a zip up he didn’t bother closing. He found some socks under his own steam and stumbled his way out of his bedroom into the sitting room. 

Cass frowned at him and grabbed his hand, pulling him to the bathroom. She sat him on the toilet lid and started combing his hair. He just leaned into it, still trying to keep his brain turned off.    
  
He didn’t want to think about how bad he’d blown it. 

Cass slipped her fingers between his and pulled him up. “Food,” she promised. But Tim didn’t want food. Food meant going downstairs and confronting his failures and he wasn't ready for that. All he wanted was to go back to bed. Cass sighed and started tugging him along. 

They made it three steps into the hallway before being confronted by Bruce. 

Tim couldn’t help but shrink behind Cass. He’d known he’d screwed up but he hadn’t known it was that bad. Everyone knew. What was the fallout going to be? How badly would it hurt the company? Were people going to attack Bruce for it? 

What should he do?

“I’m sorry!” he blurted. 

If anything his words seemed to upset Bruce worse.

Cass gave Tim’s hand a light squeeze before she released his fingers. She stepped to the side, no longer acting as a barrier. “Sad,” she said firmly. “Worried. Explain well.”

Tim wasn’t sure who the words were directed at, but it was Bruce who took initiative. “I’m sorry I allowed you to get hurt.”

“You didn’t-”

Bruce raised his hands, cutting off Tim’s protest. “I did. I’m your parent and you were obviously not okay last night and I didn’t intervene.” 

“I was fine,” Tim mumbled, looking at his socked toe. “I needed to be there.”

“But you didn’t need to be  _ alone _ ,” Bruce said earnestly. “It wouldn’t have caused any problems for me to have stuck close to you, especially when I realized how bad a time you were having.” Tim opened his mouth but Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re using the word ‘fine’ again.”

Oh. Bruce was right. He was. 

“I’m also sorry about Alfred.” 

Tim felt his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “I don’t understand. He was right. He was right and I fucked it up.” 

Bruce’s hand gently squeezed. “No,” he said emphatically, “he was not and he had no business speaking to you like that. The fact that he did is a problem that  _ I _ need to work on resolving. And you did not fuck up.”

“With Vicki-”

“You held your own. The only article about you was about how much of a bitch Vicki was being to you.”

“Oh,” Tim said quietly. 

“You did wonderful,” Bruce pushed, “And I am very proud of how strong you are, but you shouldn’t always need to be that way.” There was a shift in the air. The way it buzzed before lightning struck. “I want you to stay at the Mountain for a few days.”   
  
Tim didn’t understand. Bruce had just said he’d done well. Why was he being sent away?

The hand on Tim’s shoulder migrated to his hair. “I’m sending all of you there,” Bruce explained and Tim didn’t know why but he could have cried with relief. “I need a few days with Alfred to get things smoothed over. It won’t be for long,” Bruce promised. 

Bruce said it wasn’t his fault. Tim wanted to take his word for it, but a lot of people said a lot of things. He couldn’t help the way his eyes flicked to Cass. She gave a discrete thumbs up. 

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t his fault. 

He might be able to hold onto that belief.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Yo Kaldur. My man. My main man.”   
  
Kaldur quirked an eyebrow at Bart. “It is no secret that your loyalty lay with Tim.”

Bart snapped his fingers and twisted his hands into what Nightwing called ‘finger guns.’ “That is true, but that doesn’t mean you and I aren’t also friends. And as your  _ friend _ ,” Bart stressed the word, “I think it is important that you hang out with me.”

Kaldur allowed a small smile to spread across his face. “Conner is beating you at cards.”    
  
“It’s so  _ mode, _ ” Bart whined. “Like, I get that he’s literally a superclone, but why are  _ cards _ one of his superpowers. Like ‘here, you can punch through walls but you are also a master of Go Fish.’ And it's a power he is willing to use for evil!”

Kaldur raised an eyebrow. While Bart was amusing he was not without motive. “You wish me to join you so that I, too, can lose at cards?’

“If you come play,” Bart explained, “we can switch to a board game so Conner can’t  _ cheat _ .”   
  
“I’m not cheating!” Conner yelled from the living room.    
  
“You’re also not eavesdropping!” Bart hollered back. He turned to Kaldur with a ‘see what I put up with’ expression. “So you, me, Conner. Board game.” 

Kaldur folded his arms and tapped a finger against his lips. He had other tasks he should be doing. There were always reports that needed to be studied and missions that needed to be prioritized, but leisure time was also important. Also, it was… nice to be sought out for an invitation. “I will participate,” Kaldur said amendably. 

“YES!” Bart jumped, punching the air. “I’ll go tell Conner!” He disappeared in a gust. 

“What are we telling Conner?” Nightwing asked, dressed in civilian attire with thick, heavy shades. It had been a long time since Kaldur had seen him so. 

“I have been convinced to play a board game with Bart and Conner. I did not expect to see you today.” Nightwing’s civilian responsibilities had been keeping him from the Mountain. 

Nightwing sighed, the noise more distressed than exasperated. “Trouble at home,” he admitted. “I don’t know how bad but Batman’s sent the entire crew to stay until he gets it sorted out.”

Well, that would make the coming days… interesting. While he himself had little exposure to the small, violent child he had heard enough to be wary. “Do you know how long you will be here for?”

Nightwing shook his head, looking disturbed. “While Batman says it shouldn’t be for more than a few days I’m leaning towards an indefinite time frame.”   
  


“It’s complicated.” Kaldur stated. He remembered their conversation from earlier. 

“Yeah.”

Kaldur tilted his head. “I find companionship helps in stressful times. It is good fortune for you that your friends are gathering to engage in a game of luck and wits.”   
  
Nightwing tilted his head before grinning. “Board game?”

“Board game,” Kaldur confirmed. 

“Asterous.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was the fifth day since Father had banished them to the Mountain. Dami was not sure what his reasoning was, but he trusted Father and did his best to act without complaint, although he did not actively seek out the companionship of the other plebeians here. They were poor companionship, their fighting skills as subpar as their intellect. He spent most of his time either alone or with his brothers. Grayson was currently the most pleasant to be around. He had begun to show Dami the reports of past missions accomplished when Grayson was only a few years older than Dami, pointing out what he had done well and where he had failed. The data was both useful and intriguing and far more than Father had ever allowed. 

Cassandra was also contributing to his education. She was educating him in the pastime of springing traps upon opponents. Mother had done so but her lessons had always been to incapacitate on a field of battle. Cassandra’s were for subtle distraction or educational vengeance. If the fishboy had not wanted to be glued to the refrigerator then he should not have implied that Cassandra’s speech patterns indicated a feebleness of the mind. A lesson, though Dami doubted it would stick with the oafish Atlantian. 

His interactions with Todd were not nearly as pleasant. He was growing increasingly waspish as each day passed and Dami could not discern the reason for this. These people had been his companions and he must have spent much of his time during the height of his career as Robin. Dami could see no logical reason for Todd’s displeasure. 

Timothy was the worst. Dami had expected him to be glued to the Clone’s side acting… enamoured, but instead he had holed himself up in a lab, coming out only to sleep or eat. The first two days he had not but after Dick had explained that if he continued to do so he would be dragged out of the lab kicking and screaming Timothy had regulated his behaviour into something more appropriate, but it still meant that he was not spending any of his time with Dami. 

The rest of Dami’s time should have been his own, though he was beginning to realize that he was spending more time than was desirable with the Clone and the Interloper. 

They were not friends. It was obvious some form of psychological tie built upon the shared experience of the other universe, like a captor bond. Nevertheless Dami was afflicted by it and spent more time with them than was desirable. He would have to ease himself away from their company. 

Once he could handily beat them at rainbow road. 

But for now he was by himself and eager to meditate. Though he had been taught that stillness was key, Dami had found that a rhythmic movement aided him greatly. Though he was alone in his room instincts had him studying the shadows before he reached into his bag, pulling out the blade. 

He pulled it free from the sheathe.    
  
The blade was just as admirable as it had been in the case, the patterns in the steels aesthetically pleasing to the eye. The weight and balance of it, however, were a problem. Dami had overestimated his ability to wield the saber and would likely have to wait until a growth spurt before the weapon became useful in his hands. Still, the blade was entrancing, the garnets glowing like coals. 

Like eyes.

“Tt,” he hissed, nicking his finger on the blade, staining the steel. He stuck the finger in his mouth, squeezing painfully on the wound. Both his parents would be ashamed to discover that he’d manage to cut himself with his sword despite only having it unsheathed for a moment's time. 

A breeze rippled through the room and a soft whisper caught Dami’s ear. He sprung to his feet, sword drawn, looking for the source of the noise. The weight of the blade suddenly dropped and Dami found himself holding a small dagger, perfectly suited to his style. 

Now this, this he could use. 

He had definitely underpaid for the weapon. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Conner tossed the stick, watching it sail across the field. 

He didn’t understand what was going on. Something had happened. Even those who didn’t know Tim well could tell that he was upset. Conner had thought that when Tim was plotting against Superman that he’d seen Tim’s focus levels peak to their highest but whatever was going on was much worse, even if only because Tim had shut everyone out.    
  
Including Conner.

No one knew what was through the laboratory doors. Tim could be doing anything from building the world's most complicated lego set to designing a doomsday device and both were equally as likely. Dick had coerced him into eating and sleeping on a schedule, but Tim did so mechanically. Eating faster than Bart, Tim engaged in no pleasantry and was back in that fucking lab before anyone could pin him down. 

Wolf bounded up, stick in his mouth. He dropped it into Conner’s outstretched hand. “One more time?” Wolf nodded so Conner tossed it again. Wolf bounded off, giving chase. 

He couldn’t but wonder if this was the type of issue that he was supposed to go to Bruce about. As hesitant as he was to involve Batman in his love life, Conner had no idea how to handle Tim right now.

But Bruce was mysteriously unavailable and the Bat kids ranged from not knowing why they were here to not willing to discuss it, even when Conner wasn’t in the room. Conner had skimmed the Gotham news and had found nothing that seemed overly important, neither to Bruce Wayne nor Batman.    
  
He took the stick back from Wolf. Nothing about this situation made sense. He threw it, but instead of across the meadow the stick flew fast, passing over the cliffs and whirling over the ocean until it was out of sight. 

Wolf huffed at him. 

“Sorry.”

“Clone!” Dami barked and Conner turned to see him and Cass, both in dominos, climbing up the gentle slope. 

He greeted them with a nod. “Little D. Black Bat.”

Dami gave an annoyed sniff. He reminded Conner a bit of himself when he’d first been decanted, but annoyed instead of angry. Dami probably wouldn’t know what to do if he noticed that he felt truly happy, but he was getting that. He was already a far cry from the boy who’d threatened to murder everyone in the Mountain. “Nightwing sent me to find you so that you may prepare yourself for your ‘shindig’.” He wrinkled his nose, as though the word left a foul taste on his tongue. 

Conner had remembered that Dick had made dinner reservations so they could give Kaldur a proper welcome home, but he had lost track of time. “Shit.”

Beside him Wolf growled, annoyed at their evening being brought to an abrupt halt. While Wolf was a big boy and more than capable of looking after himself, Conner was trying to make sure he spent more time with both him and sphere. He’d been having a difficult time finding balance and, given Wolf’s reaction, the wolf was getting a little lonely. 

But the naked longing on Dami’s face gave Conner an idea. 

“I need to go, but Wolf wants someone to play fetch with. Do you think you are up to the task?”

Dami scoffed. “I am  Ibn al Xu'ffasch. I exceed at everything.” There was a moment’s pause. “What is ‘fetch’?” 

Conner didn’t laugh. Others might have but he remembered having to ask questions like that himself. It...hurt, in a way that only M’gann had ever come close to understanding, so Conner patiently explained the game while Cass found a suitable stick. 

Neither would be able to throw as far as Conner, but Wolf seemed amused at the solution. Good. Now Conner could get ready for the dinner. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Clark was absolutely exhausted. What was supposed to be a quick lesson in space missions had turned into a debacle when a conspiracy had threatened the sovereignty of the planet they were supposed to greet. While conspiracies were more Batman’s area of expertise, Clark had eventually been able to resolve the situation. The new Leaguers had also carried their weight and Clark was proud to have them on the team. 

He was also looking forward to collapsing into his bed and curling around his wife. 

As soon as he opened the door he knew that wouldn’t be happening. Lois stood with her arms crossed, legs planted, and her eyes blazing. Clark had seen that rage in her face whenever she’d stumbled across a new injustice, and he’d seen the risks she was willing to take in order to expose the problem to the world and set everything right. 

She’d never looked at him that way. 

“Lois, sweetie?” he asked, stepping into the apartment slowly and closing the door. Lois didn’t move, didn’t flinch, like a big cat waiting for the moment to run down its prey. “How was everything when I was gone?” Maybe it was just a bad story? It wouldn’t be because he’d been gone a few days longer than expected. Lois had never cared about stuff like that before. 

“Things were fine,” she said in a syrupy voice that did not match her expression in the least. “I tased some goons Lex had hired, ate my favorite funnel cake at Lickity Split, and met the clone you’ve been hiding  _ for six goddamn years! _ ”

Clark could feel the fundamental shift in reality as clearly as he could feel the air in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced that sensation. It had happened when he’d discovered he was an alien. When Bruce Wayne and Batman had merged into the same person.    
  
When he’d discovered that Lex Luthor had used his DNA in some twisted power fantasy. 

His world had changed and there was absolutely no undoing it. 

“Lois, I can explain-”

“Which part?” Lois asked, taking a step forward. Clark took a step back. “Keeping him a secret? Or fucking outing him to Bruce fucking Wayne?” 

Why was this happening?  _ How  _ was this happening? How had Conner found Lois?

“It’s not that simple, Lois.”

“ _ Make it simple! _ ”

Tim. 

This was something  _ Tim _ would do. 

“He’s Lex’s!” Clark shouted. 

Lois rolled her eyes. “Of course Lex made him. No one else is obsessed enough with you to bother trying.”

Clark shook his head. “You don’t understand. He’s  _ Lex’s _ .” Lois’s eyes widened in surprise. “He blended our DNA so now there is a piece of me wandering the world that is also a piece of him.” He took a step forward but Lois held her ground. “How was I supposed to explain this to you, after what we lost,  _ after what we’ll never have. _ ”

“No!” Lois jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ bring that up. Just because you can’t get over it is _ not _ a fucking excuse for you to lie to me!”

Clark batted her hand away, mindful of his strength. Always mindful of his strength. “So I tell you and then what? You invite him here for dinner? We all become a family? He’s  _ Lex’s _ . Everytime I look at him I can see Luthor poking out from his features. I didn’t choose him and I  _ don’t want him in my life. _ ”

“Well too fucking late because he exists, Clark.” Lois seethed. “Ignoring that doesn’t make it any less real. And maybe, maybe if you’d kept whatever bullshit you had about the kid to yourself I could have died ignorant but you fucking outted the kid to the goddamn Batman. Clark, you know the statistics! You know you  _ don’t out children _ . What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I thought Bruce would help!” Clark snarled. “I thought he would understand why they needed to be separated!”

“What the hell-”

“Tim is psychotic!” Clark roared. “You think them meeting you was about Conner’s sudden need for family?! It was as cold and as calculated a retaliation as Luthor would do. He exploded multiple League of Assassin bases at the same time, killing Rao knows how many and it is the  _ second _ time he has done so!  _ He shot a future version of himself in the skull! _

“So yes! I told Bruce! I thought he’d understand that he needed to use a firm hand with Tim lest we have another Lex Luthor who already knows all the League’s secrets on hand, but apparently I’m the only  _ one who can see what’s going on _ .”

Lois shook her head. “You believe that. You really believe that.”

“Look at us,” Clark used a gesture to encompass them both. “Look at the damage Tim’s been able to do within a few minutes of meeting you.”

Lois scoffed. “No, Clark. You did this when you lied to me for  _ six. goddamn. years.”  _ She picked up a bag Clark hadn’t noticed resting by the door and slammed it against his chest. “Get out. I don’t care if you stay at a hotel or with the League but you aren’t sleeping here until I fucking feel better about you.”

“Lois…”

She stared at him, eyes burning deeper than a red sun. 

“Get. Out.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I’m piecing together a dick Superman. There are two main sources of media I’m drawing on. 1 is Young Justice the cartoon, in which Superman season 1 is an antagonist for being a dick to Conner. The other is the Captain Marvel episode of the Justice League Cartoon. Long story short, Superman fucks up so bad that Captain Marvel says “I’ve fought some pretty nasty bad guys, but I never had to act the way they did to win a fight. I like being a hero, a symbol, and that’s why I’m quitting the Justice League. You don’t act like heroes anymore. “ There is also a lot of side media where 1 thing goes wrong in Superman's life and he goes full fascist. There was an ep in the 90s cartoon, Injustice, the Justice Lords etc. 
> 
> There is a lot of media where Superman can't handle being a good person.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the Team leaves to have a nice, quiet dinner. The rest stay and their evening is more rambunctious, which is deeply unfortunate

Kaldur ran a hand down his sleeve. The variety of textiles of the surface world never failed to surprise or delight him. The shirt he was in today was soft, though not fuzzy. He understood the material was expensive and delicate, so he had yet to wear it for any prolonged period of time. He was looking forward to the opportunity to do so tonight. 

“Looking snazzy there, Kaldur.”

Artemis leaned against the door in an emerald pant suit, with matching earrings catching the light. She wore her hair in its signature ponytail and a sincere smile that was out of place with the hard girl Kaldur had first met. He could see how leaving behind the burden of vigilantism had allowed her to find happiness and Kaldur wished her the best. He could only hope that he found someone who loved him as much as Artemis and Wally loved each other. 

“Artemis. It is a pleasure to see you again.” He looked past her shoulder, noting that she was truly alone. “Where is Wally?”

She gave a vindictive little laugh. “He got cornered by the Speedster from the future. Kid’s got a bad case of hero worship.”

“I am glad to see that you are so willing to rescue him,” Kaldur teased. 

Artemis shrugged. “He ate my pizza. All’s fair in love and food.”

“Indeed.” Kaldur chuckled. “Nevertheless, we will need him for tonight's festivities.” 

“If you say so,” Artemis said with a mock eyeroll. She began to lead Kaldur to where she’d last seen Wally. “It’s weird to see so many people here,” she observed. 

Kaldur nodded in understanding. “The Team has grown greatly and I do believe most are in attendance tonight. All of the Bats are here as well.”

Artemis stumbled. “What?  _ All of them _ ?” She flashed him a look of horror. “Is Gotham okay? Is  _ Batman _ okay?” 

“All is well,” Kaldur said soothingly. “The issue is a domestic one involving civilian identities. Nightwing is confident that it will resolve itself soon.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling very chalant about it,” said Nightwing as he manifested himself from the shadows.

Artemis looked unimpressed, a stray hair hanging over her arched eyebrow. “Yeah, you can’t get me with that one anymore.”

Nightwing gave a half shrug that was undercut by his manic grin. “Eh. It was worth a try. Where’s Wally?”   
  
“Detained by Bart,” Kaldur answered. “Where is Conner?”

“Just finished changing. He’s meeting up with us in the main hall.” 

“And M’gann?” Kaldur did not understand the game she and Conner played, though he was glad that she had relented and decided to come. Tonight would not be the same with someone missing. 

“Setting Garfield’s house rules for while she’s gone. She mother hens him. It won’t mess up our schedule.” Nightwing pulled out his phone and flicked it on. “We’ve still got plenty of time to make our reservation.”

“I fear we shall have to use most of it trying to distract Bart,” Kadlur cautioned. Bart had both the shortest and the longest attention span out of anyone he had ever met. 

“That’s...actually probably true. We’ll need backup.”

“Backup,” Artemis said skeptically even as Nightwing unlocked his phone. 

He scrolled through his contacts before picking one and bringing the phone up to his ear. He held it there for a minute before hanging up and dialing again. This time it connected. “Hey, Tim. You’re coming out of your lab to hang out with Bart or I’m cutting you off coffee. Yes, I’m serious. Just until we get back from supper. Yeah, I’ll get you some good beans as a thanks. You should rope in Little D too. He misses you.” Kaldur could see the connection cut. “We all do,” Nightwing sighed. 

“Is-” Kaldur shook his head, halting Artemis’s query. He knew that Nightwing would, at best, deflect the issue, though Kaldur had also seen him grow hostile over it. It was best to let Nightwing bring it up when he felt comfortable. 

“Let’s go rescue Wally!” Nightwing said with false cheer. It would give way to sincere excitement soon enough. It had been a very long time since they had all gathered.

By the time they found Bart and Wally, the rest of the Mountain had congregated upon their location. Wally was not, for once, basking in the attention but instead looked overwhelmed by Bart’s rapid fire questions. Garfield looked absolutely fascinated by the exchange, Robin was watching with a wry grin and M’gann and La’gaan were both snickering in waves, likely speaking telepathically. 

Conner was the only one who looked like he had any sympathy. 

“Hey, Bart, you need to let Wally go so we can get dinner. I’ll bring him back here so you can chat after, okay?” Nightwing called, a grin in his voice. He could probably recognize the way Wally’s eyes were screaming just as clearly as Kaldur could. Wally would not be returning to the Mountain after the meetup was concluded. 

“I just have a few more questions!” Bart said absently. “It’s not going to take lon-”

“Bart.” Tim’s voice rang through the room like a bell. “The sooner you quit asking him questions, the sooner we can go do stuff together.”

The result was instantaneous. “Really? You’re out of your cave?” Bart gave a happy little gasp. “We can play Mario Kart!” 

“Yo, I will kick your butts, amigos,” Jaime declared, putting his hands on his hips to make his best superhero pose. 

“As if, dirt crawler,” La’gaan cracked his knuckles. 

Robin cracked his neck. “Fuck you, kelp breath. You’re on.”

Before the rest of the Team could make their grandstand as to why they would be the Mario Kart victor, Tim jumped back into the conversation. “Or we could play Who's the Werewolf so no one sits out.”

Garfield shifted into a verdant wolf and cocked his head while Malcom folded his arms, his lips pursed. “I don’t remember seeing that on the shelf.”

“Card game that involves roleplaying. Should be a blast for a bunch of super spies.”

Garfield shifted back. “Oh! Sounds fun!” His tail flicked wildly back and forth. “I get to be the werewolf!” he shouted and darted out of the hall. A moment later he returned, scratching the back of his neck. “Where exactly are we playing?” 

“Games room’s fine,” Tim said, amused. 

“Sweet!” Garfield took off again. 

“It is time for us to depart as well,” Kaldur announced. “Enjoy your evening. Captain Marvel is on call if anything goes amiss.”

“Awesome!” Nightwing clapped in delight. “Let’s get whelmed and roll out.”    
  
They gathered together, though M'gann made a production of giving La’gaan a very physical goodbye despite the fact that their parting would be brief. He knew it was no custom of his people and M’gann had never done so with Conner. Kaldur could not help but suspect that it had been a show and, given how Conner’s shoulders hunched, had reached its intended audience. 

Much had happened while he’d been away and not all of it pleased him. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“La’gaan is dead. He passed in the middle of the night, his body brutally torn limb from limb and strewn about his cabin. That is... whatever hadn’t been eaten.”

La’gaan threw his card down. “You’ve killed me first every round! By Poseidon, you are the worst!”

“That’s what you get for being an asshole,” Jay snarked from where he was seated on the floor. 

La’gaan sputter. “I am not an asshole!” he declared angrily. 

Jay’s eyebrow rose over his shades. “You were hatched an asshole, kelp brain.”

“That sounds exactly like something a werewolf would say!” La’gaan pointed his finger, his fins twitching in agitation. 

“Shut it, gill face. Corpses can’t talk.”

“I ought to-” La’gaan rose to a knee and Tim couldn’t help but roll his eyes. This was a waste of time. He was almost at a breakthrough if he could get people to just fucking leave him alone, but if he hadn’t capitualated, Dick would have never got out of his business. And he was so close. So fucking close. He just needed this, needed something to go right.

And here he was babysitting superheroes. 

“Robin. Watch your tone,” Malcom ordered from where he was squished on the couch. Jay grumbled while La’gaan preened, but it was short lived. “And La’gaan, be quiet. Dead people are out of the game.” Jay smirked. “That being said, I think Jay’s the werewolf.”   
  
“Oh fuck you,” Jay snarled. As game narrator Tim knew that Jay was not. Cassie and Garfield were the werewolves. Jay was actually the werewolf hunter and if they wiped him out this early in the game they stood a good chance of losing. “I’d say I think you’re the werewolf, but you’re more of a sheep you-”

The whine of the zeta tubes fired up, which was weird because Dick and the rest had just headed to Happy Harbor by vehicle. “ _ Recognize: 01-Superman.” _

No no no. 

Tim was reaching for the kryptonite before the call sign finished.    
  
He was nowhere near fast enough. 

Clark’s huge hand engulfed Tim’s, trapping the tube that contained the kryptonite within their grip. It was like having his hand encompassed by dried cement. There was a firm, unyielding pressure that didn’t even allow him to wiggle his fingers though, unlike cement, this pressure could change at a second’s notice and reduce Tim’s hand to pulp. 

Clark  _ wasn’t supposed to be here. _ According to the League files he was still in outer space. Either someone had failed to update the system properly or Superman had skipped the debrief to go straight home. Either way, the notification that Tim had been counting on hadn’t come and now Clark  _ was here.  _

And he was  _ pissed. _

Every line of Clark’s body was taut, the veins in his neck popping from tension. His face was carved out of a flat rage and eyes had the slightest glow to them, the color matching his cape. Tim couldn’t look away. 

Everyone in the room went still, like rabbits in a field when the hawks were about. Tim could feel emotions swelling on either side, Clark’s rage still building while the Team sunk into mounting shock. 

“Get out,” Superman ordered in a voice that would cause even Bruce to hesitate. 

No one moved.

“That was an order!” he barked. 

Garfield squeaked. He propelled himself off of the floor, shifting into a cheetah and bolting from the room as an emerald blur. Everyone else rolled to their feet, La’gaan chasing a few steps after Garfield before he turned and realized no one else had turned to run. 

The team was in casual wear, no one looking for a night of adventure. Jason and Barbara were in sunglasses, neither of them carrying the usual Bat arsenal. Jaime was on his feet but his armor hadn’t activated, probably in a wise attempt to not escalate the situation further. Cassie’s fingers were barely brushing the top of her lasso. Bart, while in a t-shirt and shorts, was probably the best equipped to handle this. 

Which would be great if Tim’s fist wasn’t trapped in the equivalent of living concrete. 

“Stand down, Superman,” commanded Barbara and Tim needed to carve out more time to get to know this version because she was obviously made of steel to speak to an enraged Superman like that. “You need to calm down.” 

It was small, infinitesimally small, but Tim felt the pressure on his hand increase.

“This doesn’t concern you, Batgirl,” he said with a calm so smooth someone could almost skate across it until it cracked and they were swallowed by the raging waters beneath. Clark’s next comment was louder. “It doesn’t concern any of you.”

“And I am willing to stay out of it.” Barbara’s tone was even and professional as though negotiating with an enraged Superman was something she did on a regular basis, “Once you let go of Tim.”

The grip tightened again, this time painfully so.

Clark scoffed. “I’d sooner release Metallo.”   
  


Tim hated that a few of his brain cells decided to focus on being offended for being reduced to a  _ Metallo _ level of villain instead of helping him figure a way out of this because right now? All he’s got is banking on Barbara. 

  
Barbara pursed her lips, her next words slow and measured. “I can see that Tim did something to upset you. Why don’t we call Dinah? You can talk it through and then determine an appropriate punishment.”

Clark’s fist squeezed, making Tim hiss in pain. The lead tube was digging so sharply into his palm that he was sure in places it was bleeding. Tim tried to keep his breathing even, to not panic and make this worse, but he was beginning to realize that losing a hand might be an unavoidable outcome. 

He’d overestimated Clark’s moral character which, in retrospect, was pretty fucking stupid of him. 

“Appropriate punishment?  _ Appropriate punishment? _ ” Clark roared. “There is  _ nothing _ that is going to make this better! There is no  _ fixing  _ it!” Clark twisted their hands, forcing Tim to his knees. Tim cried out as the bones in his hands started to grind. Nothing had snapped. 

Yet. 

And Tim knew his hand was at its literal breaking point. 

“Dio mio,” Jaime whispered the prayer under his breath. Tim was not religious. Janet had been, surprisingly so, but it never rubbed off on Tim. Right now? Tim kinda wished there was part of him that believed if only so he could focus on that hope instead of the steady throbbing ache in his hand. He’d had plans. He’d had provisions! Clark wasn’t supposed to have been able to take him off guard like this.

“Is stooping down to his level going to help?” Oh, that was a good tactic, especially with Clark. He liked to be better than everyone else. 

Clark looked all the way down at Tim. He likely made a pathetic sight, trapped on his knees, one hand braced against the floor and panting in pain. He didn’t dare bring his eyes up to meet Clark’s because he knew that no matter what expression Tim wore, Clark would find a way to take offense to it. So he stared at the top of Clark’s stupid boots.

Clark scoffed, and Tim felt a soft burn in his muscles as Clark added twisting on top of squeezing. “Nothing else has so far.” Fuck fuck fuck. 

And that stupid part of his brain sighed. That was his good hand. 

Clark cried out and collapsed to his knees, barely getting his hands out to catch him from face planting. 

Leaving Tim’s hand free.

Bart hauled Tim to his feet with dizzying speed and pulled him back towards the safety of the group. Clark snarled, his skin greyish, sweat beading on his forehead and his body shaking. 

Behind him stood Cass, a piece of kryptonite on hand and a look of marble serenity. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“-so by that point I am just so done with this asshole, so guess what I decided to do?”

“Punch him in the face?” Nightwing guessed, lips turned into an excited grin. 

“Better. I drank him under the table.” 

“Boom!” Cutlery rattled as Wally slapped the table. “That’s my girl.”

“Ah,” Kaldur said. “A time honored tradition.” One that Atlantis had as well, though his King would prefer that not become common knowledge on the surface world. While his King claimed it was good for the reputation of Atlantis, Kaldur had suspicions that it was solely so Green Arrow would not pester him over his youthful indiscretions. 

Wally’s grin was perhaps more satisfied than Artemis’s own and was not even dampened by the unimpressed looks of the other patrons. 

The venue was much more elegant than any the Team had ever frequented, courtesy of Nightwing. Kaldur had attempted to dissuade the younger man but Nightwing had been adamant and had promised that the money was coming from the batarang budget and that Batman wouldn’t even notice the missing funds. 

They were seated at a long wood table, M’gann, Nightwing and Conner sitting opposite Artemis, Wally, and Kaldur. The restaurant itself had a winter scape feel to it. The floor and the walls were soft cream while the ceiling and furniture were a deep mahogany. Along the walls were framed pictures of small birds on icy bushed and frosted bright red berries. 

Artemis grinned smugly. “Someone caught the moment that frat jerk’s face hit the table on video and posted it. It was all over campus by the time he woke up.”

M’gann let out a tittering laugh. “Wow. College sounds so exciting. Maybe we should all give it a try.” 

Sitting directly across the table from Kaldur, Conner’s shoulders rose to his ears and he looked away, staring at something invisible on the floor and Kaldur’s heart ached. Of all of them Conner was the only one for whom a normal life would never be an option. It would not be long before he had to distance himself from his old friends from high school lest they notice the lack of physical changes he’s gone through in the last six years. 

The thoughtlessness of M’gann’s comment bothered him but he set it to the side. It was a matter he could pursue with Nightwing at a more appropriate date. 

The conversation was interrupted when a waiter slid their appetizer, two long trays of bison sliders, onto the table. “Oh, oh man,” Wally whispered in awe. “We did not order enough.” He reached out to grab one and Artemis slapped his hand. “Owe!” Wally whined, shaking out the limb. “What was that for?”

She rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated huff. “It’s Kaldur’s party. He gets first pick.”

Kaldur laughed and releasing the sound was like draining all his current worries from his body, allowing him to finally  _ finally _ relax. It had been so long since he had not needed to be careful about wearing a façade, to just allow himself to be in the moment instead of planning for the worst possible turns of the future. 

He grabbed a slider and grinned as he bit into it.

“Verdict?” Nightwing asked, watching Kaldur chew with a disturbing intensity. 

Kaldur swallowed and gave it careful thought. “It is… very unique.”

“And?” Artemis prodded. 

Wally nodded. “Yeah, dude. ‘Unique’ is like saying something is ‘interesting’. It doesn’t tell us anything about what you’re thinking.”

He gave it another moment's consideration. “I found it deeply enjoyable and may be willing to engage Wally in combat if he attempts to consume the rest of the dish by himself.” Everyone laughed and Kaldur felt him echoing their energy with a sincere smile. This was indeed a wonderful idea. 

They were chatting idly while waiting for the main course when things went awry. 

Nightwing’s phone trilled loudly and he had it open so fast that Kaldur could have mistaken him for being a speedster. “Fuck.” His sunglasses highlighted the way his skin drained of color. “Robin just set off his distress beacon.”

Kaldur looked to Conner, who did not need verbal orders. He tilted his head and was out of his seat seconds later. “It’s Superman,” he snarled at Nightwing before tearing through the restaurant. 

Superman? As a reason for Robin to set off a distress signal? Kaldur was unaware of any conflict, but it seemed that Nightwing was better versed in the situation as he rose out of his seat immediately. He slammed down more money than their evening meal could possibly be worth and followed Conner at equal speed. 

The other three turned to Kaldur with bewildered stares but Kaldur had no answers for them. He did, however, have orders. WIth a simple nod everyone took off after their companions. As Kaldur left he could not help but give one last wistful look at the table before reminding himself that this interruption did not matter. There would be other nights, other dinners. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_ Be good and good will follow.  _

Those were the words that Billy’s parents had left him with. The words he had carried through the darkest moments of his life, when he’d been starving on the streets. Be good. Good will follow. 

He’d looked up to the Justice League then. No, he’d  _ idolized  _ them as living examples of how he needed to act, what it was that he needed to be, even before he got his powers. After that it had become even more crucial that he act like a hero, both for the sake of doing good and inspiring others to follow. He’d wanted to follow in Superman’s footsteps. The hero embodied Billy’s credo. He defended the defenseless and championed the vulnerable, asking only that people be kind to each other. So when Billy was offered a chance to meet the Justice League, nevermind  _ join,  _ he jumped on the opportunity with the speed of Mercury. 

His parents had died before they taught him to never meet his heroes. 

He hadn’t expected them to be so… human. The Flash told ridiculous puns. Green Arrow was always being chastised by Dinah and slinked away like a puppy who’d had his nose tweaked. Diana had a particular fondness for ice cream. Slowly but surely these details emerged until Billy knew that every hero, except possibly for Batman because he was still kinda intimidating, had their quirks and foibles. It wasn’t disappointing, exactly, but it still felt a little like loss. 

Then Superboy had come along. 

Despite having the Wisdom of Solomon, Billy had no idea how to handle this situation. At the end of the day, even after all that was Captain Marvel, Billy Batson was ten and had no idea how to raise a teenager, nevermind a traumatized one with powers that rivaled his own. Fortunately Superman had been there and Billy had stepped back to allow Superman to take care of his newfound family and Superman just....

Hadn’t. 

Billy had gone home that night, tossing and turning in his room as he tried to name the emotion that now lived next to Superman’s name. He’d had to discuss it with Uncle Dudley before he really understood. 

He was disappointed in Superman. 

Superman wasn’t perfect, he’d tried to remind himself. He’d been shocked. He’d come out of it eventually. 

But he never did. Watchtower whispered with growing trepidation. Superman hadn’t gone back to see the Superboy. He hadn’t named the Superboy. But it was worse than just ignoring the teenager. Superboy had specifically asked for Superman to help with his powers, powers that he shared with Superman, and Superman had  _ turned him down _ . 

It… cracked something. Yes, Superman was flawed. Billy had learned this but he hadn’t understood how deep it went. Superman was… mean. And now that Billy knew he could  _ see _ it everywhere. The way Superman judged Green Arrow for not realizing that Roy had been the mole, for not realizing that he’d been ‘just a clone’ of the ‘ _ real’ _ Roy Harper. The jokes that Superman made about Elastic Man’s redemption from his criminal past had a biting edge. How he called Billy by his name and not his Superhero identity when he thought he was being naive. When he didn’t agree with Batman he dropped the phrase  _ just human. _

Yes, Superman was kinda a jerk. 

But nothing, not even being struck by  _ magic lightning _ and turning into a Superhero, could have prepared him for this moment.    
  
“I think Superman’s going to kill Tim!” came the panicked cry as Billy’s comm flared to life. The voice was Garfield’s and the young boy sounded absolutely terrified. Around Billy, Barry facepalmed while Dinah’s eye twitched. They were about forty minutes into a game of risk and since Batman wasn’t there ‘practicing tactics,” it looked like Dinah was going to win. This wouldn’t be the first time that Garfield had reached out in panic due to a half remembered nightmare and both of the other heroes look varying shades of annoyed and sympathetic.

What Billy felt was scared. “Okay, Garfield. Deep breaths, okay? I need you to be brave.” He abandoned the game, not bothering to gauge Dinah or Barry’s reactions. As he jogged his way through Watchtower, he barely noted the looks of surprise as he barrelled by.    
  
“Okay.” Garfield’s voice was shaky but Billy could at least hear his breathing slow. 

“Where is Superman?” Billy kept his voice gentle. An older kid soothing a younger one. He could keep Garfield calm. 

“The games room,” Garfield whispered, sounding small. “Superman’s eyes were glowing.”

Billy started pushing people out of the way in his hurry to get to the zetas. “I’m on my way, Garfield.”

“I shouldn’t have run,” the boy half sobbed. “I should have fought.”

“You did good,” Billy promised. “And after we’re going to go out for ice cream. But until then I want you to run, okay? Get as far from the Mountain as possible.” Maybe this would involve just talking, but if this ended in violence Billy wanted as many people away from the fight as possible.   
  
“But everyone else-” 

“Wants you to be safe,” Billy finished, punching in the coordinates for Mount Justice’s zeta tubes. “I’m almost there. Run and hide.” 

Barry appeared in a scarlet blur. “You actually think there's a situation.” 

The zeta tube fired to life. “Aggressive Superman, though I can’t confirm if he’s acting under his own power or not. The Team’s senior members are off site. Are you coming?” The question was sharp, as was the one beneath it.  _ Do you trust me? _

Barry nodded. 

“Last reported location was the games room, second level in the Mountain, past the showers. Intel suggests that is where the rest of the Team has gathered. You evac while I distract.”

“Got it, Cap.” They both stepped into the zetas and Billy knew that Barry had to be just as frustrated as him at how slow these things felt. Instantaneous travel didn’t feel instantaneous when someone had superspeed as a power. 

The moment Billy felt solid enough he was racing out of the tube, Barry only a foot or so ahead of him. They were both fast, both faster than Superman, but that didn’t mean much when Superman already had the edge. If Superman, mind controlled or not, decided to do harm he could wipe out the Team in a half second’s glance. They were good. The Team was exceptional. But they were not ready to face down Superman. 

As Billy rocketed into the games room he was forced to jump as something large and blue hit the floor in front of him. He skidded to the side, doing a quick assessment. 

Tim was not dead. He was tucked behind Robin, Bart, and Blue Beetle. 

The blue blob on the floor that was trying to pull itself to its knees was Superman. Across the room stood Wonder Girl, Batgirl, and... other Batgirl? All were sweating hard, glaring in a way that would make Batman proud, and other Batgirl had a very familiar piece of green rock in her hand. 

He could see Barry reassess and he’d worked with the man long enough to know what he was thinking. With a nod, Barry dashed along the room, darted to the far edge so he could pick up momentum. He slammed his knee into Superman’s ribs, sending the Kryptonian flying into a wall, the stone cracking with the impact. Billy followed the move with a left hook. The moment Superman hit the floor Billy pressed a boot against his neck. 

“Stay. Down.” He ordered. 

“Get off me, Billy.” Beneath his foot Superman struggled weakly. Looking around the room, seeing how grim the Team was and the naked relief that he was there made Billy want to increase the pressure. 

Be good and good will follow. 

He resisted the temptation. He was better than that. His job was to protect, not to cause pain. 

“Is everyone alright?” Barry asked, blurring from teen to teen so he could give each of them a once over.    
  


“He fucking broke Tim’s hand!” yelled Robin, his voice frenzied. 

Be good. Good will follow. 

“He didn’t,” Tim assured the room. He sounded calm, but Billy had seen how fast Tim could swing between calm and hysterical and back again. His presentation of emotion was not an accurate predictor of anything. 

Barry was there, frowning. “Can you uncurl your fingers for me?” he asked. Barry wore his heart on his sleeve. It was one of the things that made the Flash popular, even with his enemies. He was emotional and sincere. The amount of worry painting his tone did not soothe Billy. 

“No,” Tim admitted reluctantly. “But a good hot soak will fix that. I didn’t feel any of the bones break.”

Deep breath. Be good. 

Barry was not convinced. “We’ll need to go get you an x-ray, okay bud?” That was a good idea. It would also get Tim out of this room. 

  
“I’m fine.” Tim snapped, taking a step away from Barry. He couldn’t retreat much farther, between the gentle grip Barry had on his wrist and the way Robin was cutting off his retreat. 

Tim didn’t react well to being told what to do, be it gently or with full force. He was Batman’s son through and through and trying to push him the way they were now was only going to end up with more injuries. “Tim,” Billy said, taking control of the situation. “Please don’t make me explain to Batman why we didn’t give you medical treatment.” The ‘he’s utterly terrifying’ went unsaid. 

Superman grabbed Billy’s boot, twisting hard. “Crap!” Billy yelled as he hit the ground, Superman rolling to his feet. 

“You don’t understand,” the Kryptonian growled. “You have no idea what he is, what he’s done! He’s-”

Whatever Superman had been about to say was cut off when Nightwing tackled the man to ground, kneeling across his chest as he began to pummel him in the face, one hand slamming into Superman’s jaw right after the other. The rest of the Team was not far behind, dressed fancily and wearing wary expressions. 

Except for Conner who made a staggering beeline towards Tim as he struggled against the presence of kryptonite in the room. He grabbed the boy’s shoulder before sinking to his knees and Tim followed Conner to the floor with comforting whispers, as though Conner was the one who had been attacked. 

Be good. 

Billy grabbed Nightwing’s arm as it wound back and though it was obscured by sunglasses, Billy could feel the glare burn through him. “That’s enough.” Billy didn’t make it an order. He just let his exhaustion shine through. Because this was exhausting and it was only going to get worse. The League was going to need to know why Superman had attacked the Team and, given Nightwing’s reaction, it wasn’t due to outside influences. Batman was going to-

“Recognized zero two. Batman.”

Well, Billy was about to witness what Batman was going to do. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for Billy I'm drawing on Young Justice and Captain Marvel vs The Black Adam cartoon short. It's an awesome watch and is just so Billy. 
> 
> Also, the next few chapters things are gonna start moving quickly, so cliffhangers and more emotional intensity. I'll likely double post a few, but that means writing the chapters together, so longer waits. 
> 
> As always, feel free to come chill on Discord
> 
> https://discord.gg/kxrhdPV


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is having a bad week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning- mentions of miscarriage
> 
> Oh, I wanted to do a shout out to a member of my discord for all the medical info!

Bruce was winning but it didn’t feel like victory. 

It was a slow, grinding battle against someone Bruce should have never had to fight but couldn’t afford to lose against. Bruce loved Alfred. He did. With all his heart. Alfred would always have a place in Bruce’s life, but if he didn’t yield, if he made Bruce choose between him and Tim, that place would no longer be at the Manor.

Bruce was at least not without allies. While Maddy had tersely informed Bruce that just because he was giving her organization money she was not his personal lackey to call upon whenever he was in a panic, she  _ had _ passed along the contact information for a person named Jaime and Jaime had flooded Bruce’s inbox with reading material, movies, and outreach programs designed to help a parent struggling with their child’s sexuality. It had been a fight fought with rigid words and impatient body language, but Bruce had forced Alfred to attend the outreach program. 

He hadn’t come back with his mind magically changed but he did look exhausted.

Always a sign of progress. 

But until Alfred was ready to apologize and to mean it, not in a ‘I’m sorry I offended you’ but to understand that he had caused Tim  _ harm _ , Bruce’s children were safer at the Mountain. As he tried to relax into his armchair, this fight taking more out of him that any Batman had ever gotten into, Bruce found solace in that thought. His children were safe, they were together, and Tim had Conner there to support him. Bruce had made as many plans as he could, already buying a property near enough that he could visit Alfred, though the reverse would not be true. Bruce was fighting tooth and nail for Tim to consider this place  _ home _ and people who made Tim’s home unsafe would not be allowed to set foot through that door. 

Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. Bruce was already studying Dinah’s schedule for places he could book more therapy appointments if it did. 

He shifted in the chair, folding a leg on his thigh before quickly putting it back down on the floor. On an intellectual level he knew this chair was comfortable. It was one of his favorites. But for the last few days sitting there just hadn’t felt right. He shifted again, trying to find somewhere better, when his watch started to vibrate at the same time his phone let out a shrill cry. He was on his feet, already running for the Cave, as he checked the screen. 

Jay’s emergency beacon. 

Bruce held his camera up to his high, waiting impatiently for the retinal scan to process as he took the elevator down into the cave. It was a remote that opened up the Justice League systems, allowing Bruce to read while he suited up. 

Neither Watchtower or the Mountain were reporting any type of security breaches and no one else had triggered any kind of alarm. Were Bruce not Batman, he’d almost think that Jay had accidentally triggered the alarm, brushing by it or rough housing with another member of the Team, but Jay treated his alarm as sacred. The others had only capitulated to wear theirs on missions, an agreement Bruce had recorded and fully intended to remind them off if they took up vigilantism when they turned twenty-one. But Jay treated his like a teddy bear used to ward off monsters at night. He had never had lost faith that Bruce would come, but his beacon was the promise that Bruce would arrive in time. 

The real question was what would Bruce be stepping into?    
  


He scanned for minor anomalies. Captain Marvel and the Flash had just zetad into the mountain. There had been a short communication beforehand transmitted to Watchtower from Mount Justice. While he keyed in the zeta coordinates, Bruce hit play.

It took a single second of that recording for Bruce’s fear to translate into icy panic, and a moment longer for all that to fade away and for Bruce to sink fully into Batman. Time was of essence, but so was preparation. Batman, for all his strengths, could not beat Superman in a fair fight. 

So the fight would not be fair. 

He tore open a secret compartment, kryptonite weapons glowing their eerie green. He barely noted that his dagger was missing but it hadn’t been the one he was searching for anyway. He grabbed the weapon and tucked it onto his belt, not even taking the time to close the drawer to his most irreplaceable weapons cache before stepping through the zeta. 

He’d expected alarms to be blaring, but instead he was greeted with the sound of a cattish. Beastboy was a caracal, his ears twitching wildly as he shuffled anxiously, eyes glued to the doorway. 

He spun, flowing into human form, the moment Batman took his first step into the room. “Batman!” Beastboy let out a relieved sob. “They’re in the games room. Captain Marvel and the Flash are there but I don’t know what’s going on! I can’t hear that far!”

Were there time to be Bruce he’d give Garfield a pat and a word of praise, but Batman was on a mission. He tore down the hallway, sacrificing stealth for speed, his ears sharp as he listened for the earth shaking that would inevitably come with a fight between Superman and Captain Marvel, but the only noise was Batman’s breathing and the rough clomping of his boots. 

He spotted Aqualad standing just outside the entrance, expression grim but given the state of his fine cotton shirt he had seen no battle himself. “Batman,” he greeted with a nod. Batman brushed past without acknowledging the Atlantian. 

They were alive. 

His children were alive. 

Except…”Where’s Little D?”

“Outside,” Cass answered. “Playing. Wolf.” She was disheveled, her disguised long gone and a bruise forming around the left side of her face, but she smacked of callous satisfaction. Her knuckles were scraped, bleeding, but Batman could make out the acidic glow between her fingers and he knew that she could ask Bruce for anything her heart desired and he would shift the world to make it happen. 

Dick was in better shape. Captain Marvel had him by the upper arm, obviously having pulled him to his feet. He looked disheveled and, while there were bloody flecks on his shirt, they didn’t look like they’d come from any injury Dick sustained. The splatter pattern was wrong. 

Jay…

Jay was not okay. He was so pale. Shaking. Batman knew exactly the haunted expression that his sunglasses hid. Since coming back Jay just wasn’t...comfortable with violence. He could handle a spar and and there were moments when his temper flared and some of that old spark lit up again, but afterwards he’d fall apart. He’d spent a nearly week sleeping in Bruce’s bed at night after his concussion and while Bruce had made up medical excuses, it had really been so he could hold the boy as he shook apart. There would be inevitable nightmares from this. 

Batman’s gloves creaked. 

Tim was on the floor, Superboy slumped in his lap, no doubt affected by the kryptonite. Batman didn’t see any immediate wounds, but everyone’s attention was on the hand Tim had balled into a fist. Batman strode over to it, his brain dismissing the other members of the Team as Not Important as they parted like a silk for a steel dagger.    
  
He crouched, taking Tim’s wrist and examining the hand. “It’s fine,” Tim said with an exasperated sigh as though he’d already said this a million times. Batman trusted Tim to report on his own injuries the same way he trusted Killer Croc to take care of a puppy. 

Batman pulled the hand closer, gently turning it over. A small tube fell out of Tim’s fingers, as though the boy could no longer hold it. Bruce felt a stab of panic while Batman calmly examined the injury. No lesions but the hand was covered in severe hematomas, the skin already a veriegated crimson that would definitely darken. There was the expected edema with such trauma, but between the swelling and the bruising it made further field diagnosis difficult. While nothing had pierced the skin, given the force necessary to cause this kind of damage it was possible that the metacarpals and the carpals were broken, fractured, or crushed. Likely tendon or ligament damage, possibly a rupture which would require surgical intervention. 

There could be nerve damage. Bruce’s mind shied away, but Batman acknowledged it and allowed it to stoke the rage that allowed him to wear the costume. While Tim’s hand might be still attached, there was the possibility that it had been reduced to little more than decorative. 

Next he took in the room. 

It was destroyed. Completely and utterly. The objects were all replaceable. Furniture, arcade games, a stack of board games. The holes in the wall. It was just stuff and Bruce had money. Money could replace stuff. But what it symbolized could never be fixed. The Team had been attacked in their base, in the place where they stopped being heroes and spent time as children. None of the Team members here today would ever feel comfortable being children in Mountain Justice again, and an ally had taken that from them. 

Finally, Batman took in Superman. 

He was bleeding. The Team had made Superman bleed. While Batman was proud of the crimson that painted Superman’s lips, matching his obnoxious cape, he was hardly satisfied. Especially not with the way Superman was struggling to his feet, like a man who had fought a great injustice and triumphed. He wore the tears in his costume with pride instead of shame, as though he hadn’t received them from attacking children, from attacking unarmed children. 

The only people with actual weapons were Wonder Girl and Blue Beetle. Impulse and Lagoon Boy had powers but they lacked experience. The Team lacked experience. They’d been unarmed. Ambushed. 

By one of, if not the most powerful being on the planet. And Superman dared stand before Batman like he was the injured party. 

“Report.” Everyone knew that word was for Superman. 

“Tim and the Superboy,” Superman spat the names, “interfered with my civilian life.” 

Tim scoffed scornfully. “You interfered with mine.”

“Because you’re screwing my clone,” Superman let out a villainous snarl, “and teaching him how to be like his father.”

“You bastard!” Dick lunged forward but Captain Marvel held him in a firm grip. Batman trusted Captain Marvel to know his strength, to not hurt his son, as he pulled out what looked to be a pair of brass knuckles. He knocked them together, the green glow the indicator of what they really were, and slammed his hand into Superman’s face. 

The alien hit the floor again. 

This time he didn’t get up. 

“Well,” The Flash said shakily, “that’s a thing that just happened.”

“Flash,” Batman ordered, “gather the League. Priority one.”

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” He stood, wrapped his arms around his nephew for a moment, and then vanished out of the room, the zeta instantly chiming. 

“Aqualad.”

  
  
“Sir,” the Atlantean said calmly, apparently unshaken by the turbulence. 

“You’re in charge.” Aqualad nodded, accustomed to the burden of leadership. “Beast Boy is by the zetas and Little D is outside.”  _ Fetch them _ was implied. “Captain Marvel?” Batman turned to the hero.

“I’ve got him,” he replied with determination, Superman still dangling over his shoulder like a slab of spoiled meat. 

Batman nodded. Bruce wanted to stop, wanted to hug his children and tell them that they were safe. Batman knew better and he wasn’t going to stop until there was truth behind those words. 

The walk down the hall felt like a grotesque parody of carrying a fallen comrade, man who was once a friend now an enemy. Batman was no stranger to this, though he knew this loss would hurt Bruce harder than most. Whatever gossamer threads had bound him and Superman had been cut and even if there was a logical reason for Superman’s actions, a spell or a toxin, there would be no rebuilding it.

It must be worse for Captain Marvel. His League membership had been sponsored by Superman. That created a bond and to have it shattered like this, after seven years, would be a detriment to the boy’s performance. Batman felt like he should offer a consoling word but Diana had always been better at that than him. 

“I’m fine.” Captain Marvel’s voice broke the silence, cracking it like ice on a puddle. “I get that I’m young, I’m naive, and too trusting, but I know how to spot a bully. I’m alarmed by the severity of Superman’s actions, not by the nature of them.”

Later, Bruce would self-flagellate himself for not seeing what a boy, hopeful and sweet, had recognized, but Batman filed the information away, flipping through the interactions he’d seen League members have with Superman and wondered how many shared Captain Marvel’s opinion. 

When they stepped into the zeta room Beast Boy was still there, all fur and he claws. “Auqalad is sending someone to rendezvous with you,” he informed the boy. Bruce rose bloser to the surface. “No one is seriously injured.” No true. Batman pushed the thought away. Tim’s injury was either grievous or it was not. Dwelling would not change the facts. 

When they stepped into Watchtower, Diana was waiting. “We are mostly gathered. What is going on?” she looked from Superman to Batman. 

“We’ll need your lasso.”

“Batman,” Diana placed her hand on his shoulder. A hand that she could easily use to mangle, to kill. 

Batman trusted her. 

Batman had trusted Superman. 

He brushed her hand away. “I’m not who you need to hear this from.” 

In the main chamber they found nearly everyone seated. A few were gossiping, guessing why they were called. Others were grim, braced for the harsh revelations these meetings always brought about. There was a chair placed in the center of the room for all to see and as Captain Marvel unceremoniously dumped Superman into it, the Flash awkwardly held out a suppression collar to Batman. 

Without hesitation he clipped it around the Kryptonian’s neck. 

The pressure in the room changed. “Diana, your lasso.” She had always been willing to work with those she trusted, but at the end of the day Diana always demanded truth. This time Batman wanted it as well. 

Unhesitatingly she wrapped it around Superman’s chest. He came to with a start, blinking in confusion before running his fingers along the golden rope. “What-” he demanded, but Batman cut him off. 

“At twenty thirty-seven, Superman entered Mount Justice via zeta,” Batman announced. The silence of the room was dark, shadowed, and Batman’s voice cut through it like lightning. “He attacked the Team.”

The bolt struck and for a moment everything was still in the after flash. Then the Justice League exploded. 

“What do you mean he-”

“-know why?”

“-explanation-”

“Is the Team okay?” Dinah’s voice filled through the room as surely as it did when she screamed. “Are the kids okay?”

“Nothing fatal. One member may be facing possible permanent injury,” Batman stated. It was a fact. Cold and hard and nothing to be emotional about. 

“Mind control?” The Green Arrow asked, tapping his fingers absently. 

Instead of answering Batman looked to Diana. She wrapped the lasso around her arm one more time before it started to glow in a soft warm glow. “Why did you attack the Team?”

“I didn’t,” Superman defended. 

Captain Marvel crossed his arms. “Why did you attack Tim?”

“He introduced the Superboy to my wife!” Superman growled. “My wife! She’s thrown me out because they interfered with my life.”

“Because you interfered in his,” Batman said, his voice made of midnight. 

The lasso flared brighter and Superman but his tongue. It did no good. Even the Last Son of Krypton was susceptible to magic. 

“Because he’s a rabid animal leading the Superboy down a dark path,” Superman spat. Batman felt his blood boil. 

“So you attacked a kid?,” Green Lantern cut in, fury roiling in his voice. “Since when do you care about what Superboy does? I thought being distant and aloof was your thing with him.” 

“It’s my responsibility to put him down if he goes bad,” Superman growled. 

Put. Not take. Both Batman and Bruce balked at that.

“Why do you hate Conner so much?” Dinah asked, her voice full of a soft anger that she had been carrying for years. 

Superman twisted against the rope but Diana was the strongest willed person that Batman had ever met. “Because he’s proof that evil wins!” There was little time for the room to absorb their shock because it was like a dam had opened. “We lost everything. We were going to have a child, a son. We named him Jonathan.” Superman whispered softly before his voice swelled like the tide, “But Intergang- We lost-” he drew in a shuddering breath, causing the tears that had gathered on his chin to fall. “Lois was injured while investigating what turned out to be Intergang. She lost the baby, lost her uterus,” he whispered. “I am never going to have a child.” 

Superman let out a bitter laugh. “But Luthor made the Superboy. In one stroke my son died while Luthor made a parody using parts of himself. Superboy’s existence is a sick irony that I have to endure. 

“And that monster you brought over,” Superman hissed at Batman, “is molding him to be what Luthor always wanted from him. You think that what, they love each other? I doubt Tim is even capable of love. 

“You’ve told us all how horrific the world he came from was, but did you even stop to consider that Tim was one of those horrors?”

Batman was calm. Controlled. He did not act out on emotions. It was what separated him, what made him good at being Batman. Which was good because Bruce Wayne would have done his best to murder Clark in this moment. 

“Well, someone needs therapy.” The room turned to look at the Flash in varying degrees of horror. The Flash looked back unapologetic. “What? It’s true.”

“Dear God, Barry,” Dinah opened her mouth but she was cut off by the wail of an alarm. 

Batman flipped open his glove, going through the alarm calls. “There’s been a volcanic eruption on the Hawaiin islands.”

“Which volcano?” Green Lantern. 

Batman’s mouth formed a hard line. “All of them.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Stage one complete.”

  
  
“Thank you, Mercy.” 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Well. 

_ That _ hadn’t gone according to plan. 

Tim frowned down at his hand, glaring at the mottled mess Clark had left him with. He’d know pretty quick here if the alien had ruined it beyond use, and wouldn’t  _ that _ be annoying. He’d have to relearn how to type.

He could invent tissue regeneration. Future Evil Tim ha-, no. Tim pushed that thought away, his mind trying to block out the echo of a gunshot. 

Focus. Hand, not mush. Ergo fixable with enough effort. Unforeseen but that was his own damn fault. 

“Tim!” Dick’s ruined voice was the first sound to slice through the silence. He grabbed Tim’s forearm gently, like Tim was a Mr Potato and his entire arm would fall off with a slight tug. Tim wanted to roll his eyes. 

“I’m fine, Nightwing,” he said, infusing as much exasperation into his tone as he could. 

Dick flinched. “Don’t call me that,” and while the words were snapped there was something broken in the tone. 

Oh. 

Right. 

Nightwing was a Kryptonian legend. 

“You’re all dismissed,” Kaldur said, steady as an oak that would weather the current windstorm the way he had everyone before it. “If you do not dwell here, return home. We will reconvene to discuss this matter later.”

“Like Zeus we will,” Cassie snapped. “I just fought Superman and I sure as Hades want to know why.”

“We currently do not have enough information-”

“But Tim does,” Cassie snapped, “and he’s sitting right there.”

But Tim had not been prepared for this to spiral so quickly out of control because both his warning system had failed and he underestimated just how much of an asshole this Superman really was. Tim was  _ definitely _ telling Mrs Kent about his hand. 

Wait. Focus. 

Needed something to say. 

“We already have an explanation,” La’gaan pointed out with a snort. “Tim and Conner are copulating.”

Fuck. Tim was hyped up on adrenaline and cortisol and ready to kick the ass of anyone and everyone in this room but he was in no position to be having nuanced conversation.

“Wait,” Bart said, jumping into the conversation for the first time. “Is that what you’ve both been hiding?” He gave them a scolding frown. “Dudes.” Now that the kryptonite had all been put away, Conner could shift and he did so, moving until he was on his knees where he could protectively brace Tim against his chest. That was sweet. 

“But that doesn’t make  _ any _ sense,” M’gann said, her voice serious. “Conner’s not gay.” Tim felt Conner’s snort ruffle his hair. 

“Enough,” Kaldur snapped, trying to reign in the room. Under other circumstances it would have worked, but everyone was riding high on hormones and betrayal and all that energy needed somewhere to go. 

“You  _ toyed  _ with M’gann’s feelings?” La’gaan said in a tone that only those who were righteously indignant on behalf of another could achieve. 

“You used  _ M’gann _ as a beard?” Cassie’s voice followed. “Or was she your experiment? You just broke her heart when you were done?”

More accusations flew, Conner stumbling to address them with mounting frustration and Tim knew he should help. He was better with words but his mind seemed to be falling in on itself and for a moment Tim though he’d sustained some serious injury that no one had realized before he recognized that this was not a loss of control, but an honed reflex born of years of training. 

Someone was trying to undo his mental defenses. 

He let himself fall, sliding deeper and faster to try and head off the intruder. His mind shuffled, his secrets tucked away behind bland memories that bore no further examination. He cut them off at the pass, throwing up a wall of stone. They scratched through it, the feeling echoing in Tim’s mind like the scrape of mental against bone. He dragged up a wall of energy, a laser shield that let nothing pass. They sank under it, filling Tim’s viens with mud. Tim pulled down a curtain of fire, sighing as he felt the intruder take a step back. 

Too soon. 

His hand flared in agony and Tim didn’t know if it was physical, mental, or some mix of between but he couldn’t hold his concentration, couldn’t think of anything but the feel of his fingers twisting. But they were still sinking in his head and Tim couldn’t let them. But there was nothing to focus on but pain so Tim did the one thing he’d been taught never to do under mental siege. 

He relinquished control. 

The pain stopped instantly and Tim felt something himself being wrapped under something heavy and dark. He reached out, his tiny hand behind a knee, and kept himself half hidden behind a sheet of smooth material, too sturdy to be cloth.    
  
A cape. 

Batman’s cape. 

Nobody could beat Batman.

The presence in his mind paused in their steady drive forward, unsure of how to treat this newest obstacle. The landscape became the shadowed rooftops of Gotham a moonless night and Tim felt safe wrapped in the familiar darkness. Strangers didn’t know the city but Batman did. Batman ruled here. 

Tim was safe.

And then the city vanished and Tim went flying, landing in Jay’s lap, Conner’s voice wringing in his ears. 

  
  
“-stay out of his fucking head!” Conner was standing in front of M’gann, hands balled and shaking as though he wanted nothing more than to throw a punch. 

“I didn’t-” M’gann took a step back, her body rippling. Density shifting, Tim’s mind supplied.

“Don’t lie!” Conner’s rage drowned out M’gann’s response. “Not to me!” His next words were quiet but the heartbreak in them made them just as violent. “Not to me, M’gann. Not after what you did to me.” His hands fell open and his shoulders slumped and Tim could read defeat, not exhaustion. 

“Explain.” It was an order and everyone could tell it was not one Kaldur would tolerate having to be repeated. 

M’gann and Conner both started, as though they’d forgotten they weren’t alone. “It’s between me and Conner,” M’gann said, wringing her hands together. 

Conner gave his head a vicious shake. “Not anymore.”

“Conner…”   
  
The kryptonian ignored her. “When I disagreed with how M’gann was abusing her powers she tried to use them to tamper with my memory.” He gave her a disgusted look. “It’s why we broke up.”    
  
Oh god.  _ Conner.  _ Tim felt the world twist as things snapped together and fell apart. Conner set clear hard boundaries and Tim had always assumed it was because of CADMUS, that Conner felt the need to assert authority over his life because for a while he’d not had any autonomy. The idea that he’d been mind raped, that it had happened at the hands of someone he trusted, someone he loved… God, Tim was going to have to do better.

He would make himself do better. 

“Holy shit,” Wally whispered. The words were as loud as a gunshot. 

“Angelfish?” La’gaan stepped forward. “Is this true?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” M’gann defended, taking a step back. 

“Not as-” La’gaan cut himself off before his eyes went wide. “Did you do it to me?  _ Have you ever tampered with my mind?” _

“No! I’d never!”

“But you did to Conner,” Kaldur said coldly, “and you just attempted to invade Tim’s mind.”   
  
And hadn’t that just sucked. 

Jay’s arms tightened around him and he felt Dick’s hand on his leg. Everyone seemed to be looking at him. Shit. Inside words were outside words. God being mindfucked was  _ exhausting _ . 

“I needed to know!” M’gann snapped. “I needed to know what Tim had that I didn’t.”

“Boundaries, apparently,” snapped Barbara. 

A green house cat slinked its way into the room, followed by Dami who had found yet another knife. He held the dagger at the ready, trained from a young age to read when violence lingered in the room. 

“Safe,” Cass promised. Dami scoffed but he lowered the knife and Garfield flowed back into human form. 

“Go. Home.” This time there was no ignoring that order. “These matters will be pursued after we have conferred with the League. M’gann, you are to remain in your quarters. If you violate that directive I will not hesitate to confine you by more uncomfortable means.”

“M’gann? What’s going on?” Garfield sounded painfully young. He was young. Too young for tonight. 

“Come,” Kaldur took Garfield by the shoulder. “I will explain.”

Conner marched over to Tim, scooping him out of Jay’s lap and into a bridal hold. “I can walk,” Tim grumbled. It might be true. 

It might not. 

“Robin,” Dick ordered. “Go home. Report to Agent A. Take Little D with you.”   
  
“B said-”    
  


“I’m countermanding those orders and if B has an issue with them, he’ll discuss it with me.” Dick put a hand on Jay’s shoulder. Huh. Jay was almost as tall as Dick. “Go home. Be safe. Feel safe. I’ve got this, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jay said breathily. “Yeah,” this time it was firmer. 

“I am not leaving,” Dami hissed. “I left you alone with Timothy for an hour and I come back to find him damaged. Do you truly think that I will trust you with his health? Pathetic.” He started to march out of the room before twisting. “Now come, Clone,” he ordered the way he would a dog, “or do you intend to deny Timothy medical attention as well?”

Conner let out an exasperated snort but he followed Dami. The last thing Tim heard was Dick telling Wally to go home and wait for updates. 

He leaned into Conner’s chest, feeling the thrum of the Kryptonian’s heartbeat. This was not how he’d wanted to end his day. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Mercy.”

“Everything is ready.”

“Begin stage two.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE SUPERMAN STUFF. There is a lot to unpack there and I just need you to trust that I have a plan, cause I do. It's all in writing and its going to make everything make sense. You may or may not forgive him but I think you will understand how we got to this point better. Believe it or not I AM DRAWING ON CANON and can use canon to justify my choices and I will eventually reveal what it is I am *actually* doing. Shit's complicated. 
> 
> Also, yes, cliffhanger. The next few chapters are cliff hangers and I'm sorry but writing is hard and these are good for the pacing and they'll eventually go away. On the worst cliff hanger I promise I'll post the next chapter the next day, barring an act of god.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has trouble sleeping after Superman leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING AT END NOTES
> 
> This chapter gets dark so don't read if you don't want that in your vibes right now.

Dick couldn’t sleep.

Dick tried to push the horror, the  _ betrayal _ , off to the side but his brain kept circling back round to it. He was in his Nightwing costume when all he wanted to do was burn it, but the drive to protect his family was stronger and the costume gave him advantages. It had armor and weapons. 

It had kryptonite. 

God, Clark was- had been- like an uncle to Dick. They’d drifted a bit over Conner but Dick had never stopped looking up to the man. For him to come here, to do this to Tim, to say this to Tim- Dick couldn’t wrap his head around it. He knew it had happened but it didn’t feel real, like a severe injury that just wouldn’t stop bleeding. 

Clark had hurt Tim. At this point they knew nothing was broken, thank goodness, but there were so many other things that could be wrong and they wouldn’t really have a chance to diagnose until it healed a bit, or until it failed to. 

So Dick sat in a chair in the medical center, his eyes focused on Tim’s sleeping form. Conner was in another chair and had slumped onto the bed, his hand resting possessively on Tim’s stomach. If Dami were here Conner would probably lose that hand, but Dick had forced him to sleep in his room aided by Cass. She’d probably spend the night wrapped around the boy. 

Dick felt a change of pressure and the silence of footsteps that he recognized too well. He stood and walked into the hallway, closing the door to the medicentre so as not to disturb those within. 

“B,” he greeted his mentor, relieved by the presence of his father. He joined B in his walk down the halls. 

“Report.” Dick instantly recognized the barely leashed fury of Batman and knew that this conversation would be to his mentor, not his dad. 

“The bones in the hand are fine but it’s too early to tell about other types of damage. I’ve sent Robin home and Little D and Black Bat have been paired off together.” 

“Why were you not there?” There was a bite that Dick had heard few times in his life and  _ never _ directed at him. 

“Batman?” 

“Why were you not there to do your job, Nightwing?”

Dick turned his head, words cramping his stomach. “I-”

“You were what?” Batman’s voice was the ominous creak of a roof about to buckle beneath Dick’s feet. “ _ Playing _ instead of doing your job? I thought you’d grown out of that.    
  
“I thought I could trust you.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kaldur was roused from his disturbed sleep by a knocking on his door. He threw on a jacket over his sleepwear and opened it, surprised to find Dinah standing on the other side. 

“Black Canary,” he greeted neutrally. 

“Walk with me,” Dinah ordered, her tone terse. He did so without protest, walking silently as he waited for her to speak. “You’ve failed the Team.”

He didn’t flinch. The words stung, but were ultimately true. He had known there was conflict between M’gann and Conner and he had sought to discover the source of it. He had not recognized M’gann’s growing abuse of her powers. As a leader he had failed. 

Dinah shook her head. “I never thought you should be Team leader. You barely understand the surface world.” 

It was like someone digging his hands into his gills. “Black Canary, I-”   
  
“I wasn’t surprised,” she said, as though he wasn’t tearing him apart, “that you turned out to be a bad egg. You were never a spy, just a coward who changed sides whenever things got too tough. 

His head was spinning. “That’s not-”

“What?” Dinah barked. “Not true?” She gave a humorless laugh. “Why would I ever trust you to tell me that?”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Garfield was twisting and turning in his bed, the blankets wrapping around him like cruel hands. He frantically kicked them off, trying to reconcile everything Kaldur had told him with everything he knew to be true about M’gann. 

She wouldn’t have done that to Conner. M’gann was better than that! She was kind and caring. She’d saved his life. M’gann was a good person. 

“Garfield?”   
  
“M’gann!” he called out, bolting up right and flicking the lights on to watch as she phased through his wall. “I thought Kaldur said you couldn’t leave your room.”

“Oh, Garfield,” she whispered soothingly as she landed at the foot of his bed. “You’re more important.” For the first time since Superman had shown up, he felt something untwist. “You’re my favorite puppet.”

He scrambled backwards. “What?” No. M’gann  _ wasn’t _ like that.   
  
She clucked her tongue at him. “You were so easy to manipulate, to control. I bet Queen Bee found it harder to twist your mother around her finger. I bet mommy dearest fought but you,” she let out a loving sigh, “you just opened your mind up to me, serving it up on a platter. You loved me because I made you love me.”   
  
“No!” He shook his head in denial. This wasn't true.

“Yes,” M’gann purred. “And I know Kaldur told you bad things about me, but it’s okay. I’m going to make sure you love me anyway.”

“No!” he screamed, moving to shift but M’gann had him, was holding him firm in a telekinetic grip. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dami’s eyes shot open, a familiar perfume hitting his nose. Slowly, carefully, he untangled himself from Cassandra and moved towards the door, opening it without a sound, just as he’d been taught. As the door closed he shifted to the side, dodging a strike. 

“Good, Damian,” Mother praised. “I am pleased to see that your time with your Father has not dulled your skills.”

He lifted his chin. “My time with Father has been very educational.”

Mother waved her fingers and Dami followed her. “I am pleased to hear that, as is your Grandfather.”   
  
Dami scoffed. “Grandfather tried to have me killed.”

“A test,” Mother informed. “Always a test. And I have a final one for you before you will return home.” But… Dami was home. He could not imagine returning to his old life, where hugs were not a traditional way of greeting and his fingers were allowed to hold a charcoal as often as they could hold a knife. 

“You will slay the imposters claiming to be your Father’s son.”   
  
“No!” The word was out of Dami’s mouth before he had given thought to what it would mean to outwardly defy his mother. 

“Very well.” She drew a sword. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Sleep when you can but never too deeply. That was, had been, the way of the future. It was how Bart hit his pillow hard and fast, and why he was already on his feet before the lights had flicked on. 

“Morning, luv.”

Bart’s eyes widened, absolute terror filling him. “How did you get in here?”

Constantine shrugged. “All the doo-dads the League has mean absolutely nothing against a bit o’ magic. Just like your powers.”   
  
“What?” Bart looked down at his feet, realizing for the first time he was standing in a bloody occult circle. “No!” He tried to move, tried to run, but his feet were frozen in place.

“I’m in a bit of a bind,” Constantine said, sitting on Bart’s bed and lighting a smoke. “I need a soul for a spell I’m power, but any old soul won’t do.”   
  
Bart shook his head, trying to prevent himself from breaking down into terrified sobs. “No! The apocalypse never happened. You never grew to be that man!”

Constantine scoffed. “I’ve always been this man. Don’t know where you’ve been, thinking I’m someone better, but at this point it don’t matter much.” Constantine stood and rolled up his sleeves. “Now do stay quiet.” He shrugged. “Or scream. It doesn’t really make much difference.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Conner woke to the sound of a piercing scream, bolting up right. It sounded like Bart. He stumbled to his feet, racing out the door, when another scream assaulted his ears, something electronic. He turned to see Tim’s heart monitor flatlined. 

“No!” he called out. He couldn’t help! He was too Kryptonian! He’d crush Tim’s chest if he tried to perform chest compressions. 

He dashed to the wall, slamming his hand against the medical alarm and prayed someone would come. 

  
  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

As Constantine chanted Bart desperately pulled at his legs, trying to break free of the spell. Across the base alarms were going off which meant that no help was coming and Bart was going to end up worse than dead. 

He let out a sob and tugged on his leg hard. It shifted and, as it did so, Constantine blurred around the edges. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dick heard the alarm go off and turned to bolt.    
  
“Stop!” came the sharp order. Batman loomed over Dick. “This conversation isn’t finished.”

“But Tim-”

“If you leave now, you aren’t my son.” There was a finality in Batman’s words, like the shutting of a coffin lid. 

That… that wasn’t something Bruce would say. That wasn’t even something  _ Batman _ would say. What-

Dick’s eyes widened in realization. 

He’d been  _ compromised _ . He ran down the hall, Batman flying after him. The man pretending to be his father reached out to grab his wrist and the hand passed through Dick like smoke. 

He stumbled into the training ground and slammed his hand into an alarm requesting League backup. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x 

Tim woke to the scream of alarms and Conner sobbing over his bed. “Conner?” he asked, but his boyfriend didn’t even look at him as Tim sat up, his eyes focused on where Tim used to sit. 

What the fuck? 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Mother was toying with him and the thought was terrifying. She was dodging all his slashes as though she was made of smoke, not even bothering to swing her own sword. He was just wearing himself out until she could kill him with a single blow, but if he did not fight at all she would do the same.    
  
Dami was going to die. 

Here and alone. He was never going to see Timothy again, never going to hug his Father. 

Never going to get a cat. 

_ Block!  _ came a scream from inside his head and his knife pulled his hand, twirling away from Mother to block against nothing. 

The impact of steel on steel reverberated through his arm. He heard a low, silky voice. “And here I thought you’d be no fun at all.”

_ Pft. As if. We’re gonna kick some butt! _

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After failing to convince Conner that Tim wasn’t still laying on the table Tim grabbed his bo staff. Something was definitely wrong and it had the feeling of a problem that required a stick to resolve. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Bart’s other leg moved and this time Constantine warped like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. Think, that was what Old Tim had taught him. Think and observe. Movement changed things, but he couldn’t run. But he could move.

He started to vibrate, his entire body buzzing with movement and with every moment Constantine seemed to fade and melt until Bart blinked him away. There was no circle on the floor, no smell of cigarette smoke in his room. 

Constantine wasn’t here. Had never been here.

So who was?

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dinah moved to block his path and he stepped towards her arm, intending to push it away. He moved through it like it was mist. A hallucination. A distraction? Or something more sinister?

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

There was… music in the training room. Music and the smell of sweat and popcorn. The roar of a crowd. Screams. 

Dick shook his head. No. That wasn’t. He was at Mount Justice. He was Nightwing and he was at Mount Justice. 

“Dick!” Tim ran into the room, his hands grasping his bo staff tightly. “Dick, what’s going on?” 

“Stick with Superboy!” Dick ordered. Superboy could keep Tim safe while Dick figured this out. 

  
  
“What about-” A shadow loomed behind Tim.

“Nooo!” Dick’s scream came too late. 

A thin silver blade passed through Tim’s neck as though it had been made of butter. His body hung there, his face a mask of surprise as a small line of red line appeared across his neck. Gravity took charge and Tim collapsed, his head rolling free as it hit the ground. 

With an agonized scream Dick threw himself at Deathstroke. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

La’gaan had woken up to the blare of what was possibly every alarm in the base which wasn’t a surprise given the thick, heavy smoke that filled the hallways. He coughed as he inched his way down them, lungs burning with the feel of soot. 

The Nightwing screamed and La’gaan bolted, ignoring the burn in his lung to help a teammate. He burst into the training room, shocked to see Nightwing screaming at an opponent who wasn’t there. 

“By Poseiden!” he exclaimed. 

Deathstroke’s voice whispered in his ear. “He’s not going to be able to help you.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_ What a jerk! _

“Would you shut up!” Dami hissed, sweat stinging his eyes as his knife guided his hand, the illusion of Mother forgotten. There were others that took its place. Curses from his Father, Timothy’s body in a pool of blood that was not there.

The feel of his Grandfather’s hand. 

But the blade guided him, blocking blow after blow from an invisible opponent.

Even if Dami was hallucinating that it was speaking. 

_ She’s really good with a sword, but it’s really mean that she’s attacking you while you're seeing things.  _

“Be quiet! You are a distraction!” He heard a chuckle come from his opponent. 

“Your blade is impressive, little one. I will soon claim it.”

_ We’re not gonna lose this fight! _

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Kaldur heard the sound of combat. He cursed himself for not grabbing his water bearers as he burst into the training room. La’gaan was fighting Deathstroke while Nightwing fought the Joker. Tula was struggling against Black Manta. 

But Tula was dead. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

M’gann could hear the whispers of her teammates.  _ White martian.  _ They said.  _ Not to be trusted.  _ They said.

La’gaan turned away from her, leaving her alone. She needed to- She needed to explain! She could explain! She could make La’gaan understand. And Garfield and then Kaldur and Conner until they were all a Team again. She could fix this. 

She flew through her wall, her mind guiding her to where La’gaan was. “La’gaan,” she called. 

His eyes widened as he stared at her. A sword cut through his chest.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_ Tag out! _ The infuriating knife cried as it pulled itself to the floor, taking Dami with it. He snarled, trying to figure out why this stupid blade was trying to kill him when something went sailing over his head. He looked up, his eyes wide, as Cassandra danced. 

_ Oh wow,  _ whispered the knife,  _ she’s super cool. _

She was a ruthless grace that Grandfather would be desperate to have. It was like she was dancing and every blow was part of a routine that had been practiced a million times before, each motion perfection. At the Manor, Cassandra had never sparred with her full strength, she had never hinted that this was what she was capable of. 

Her opponent was unprepared. Of course she was, for how could someone prepare for such violence incarnate? Dami desperately wished he could see the woman, to see how she folded under every blow, to watch how this dance looked with a partner. 

Cassandra needed to teach him

“Dami!” 

He whipped around, blade up, to see Timothy standing there with a bo staff in his good hand and he hissed at his brother in displeasure. “You are injured, you should be hiding!”

“You’re coming too!” Timothy twirled the staff so it was under the armpit of his bad hand and grabbed Dami by the collar. “Lady Shiva’s a bit out of your league.”

“Yes, Grandson. My true heir could defeat her but you-” Timothy charged through Grandfather’s image as though he couldn’t see it. 

“I am hallucinating,” Dami announced as he jogged alongside Timothy, allowing the older boy to grasp his weapon properly. 

“What type of hallucinations?” Timothy demanded. 

It was embarrassing to admit, but Dami would tell by Timothy’s tone that it was crucial intel. “Mother demanded I slay you. Grandfather threatening to harm me. Father abandoning me.”

“Fuck,” Timothy cursed visciously. “It’s probably fear gas.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x 

Nightwing blocked a blow that would have taken the top of his skull. Kaldur was in the room, fighting using only his hands against Sportsmaster’s fist. La’gaan had been fighting Cheshire though he’d lost sight of them. 

Kaldur stumbled, the only movement Sportmaster needed to thrust the spear between his ribs. 

“Kaldur!” Dick screamed, trying to pull away.

A mistake.

Deathstroke thrusted his blade at Dick’s exposed torso in the exact same spot Kaldur had been pierced. 

  
  
He felt pressure, air rushing out of his lung, and it was enough to drop him to the ground. He covered the wound- the wound? It didn’t burn right, it wasn’t wet enough. A foot slammed itself into his head, stars bursting into his vision. There was another blow and blood started to run down his face, into his eyes. Blurring his vision. He was kicked again, and the world spun dangerously, beckoning him to fall back and leave himself defenseless. He fought to stay conscious, to fight. 

Something wrapped itself around his neck, pulling tight and cutting off his air. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

They were sloppy. 

When Bart and Old Tim had hit places like this it was always with the precision of a surgeon. Tim would have known about a speedster on site and he would have accounted for the accelerated metabolism, either making the aerosol compound something strong enough to take down a speeder in the first place, waiting until he was offsite, or finishing him off before he ever had a chance to be a problem. 

Now he was in a position to stop them. He wasn’t incapacitated and a search that might take others hours was going to take him minutes. 

Or, given the dude in the spooky mask, a couple of seconds. The guy was in a burlap sack with stitched lips and a tall jagged hat. There was a hole drilled into the ventilation system and the guy had a crate of cannisters attached to a hose that had been stuffed into that hole. The guy was talking to himself and though Bart couldn’t hear the words, deranged satisfaction filled his tone. 

Bart darted forward with the intention of hitting Mr Spooky Mask as hard as he could but his dash turned into a roll as something hot sliced into the front of his boot. He slammed into the vent, his mind as his mind yelled at him for getting cocky, for getting taken down by tripwire, when Mr Spookymask sprayed something directly into his face. 

“I was regretting that I didn’t get to see the show,” he whispered. “This is going to make everything much more entertaining.”

  
  
Bart blinked, feeling the weight of a collar around his neck as he studied the all white room.    


  
“No!” He pounded on the glass cage. “NO!” He screamed. 

  
  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

No one was coming. No one was coming and Conner couldn’t do this, but if he didn’t Tim was going to die. 

WIth a sob he leaned over Tim’s chest, pushing down and lifting up. No. Too slow. There was a rhythm, a song that it went to. Conner started to hum, trying to push in time to the beat.

Tim’s ribs cracking was like a series of firecrackers. 

“No!” Conner wept, having no choice but to keep pushing but every pump sank his hands deeper into Tim’s chest. Tim was dying and Conner was killing him trying to save him and he didn’t know what to do. 

He screamed. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dick twisted. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get any leverage, as he was dragged across the floor by a rope twisted around his neck. He tried to reach for a wingding and felt the slick slide of metal through skin. 

He couldn’t scream. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Cass punched Lady Shiva in the face as hard as she could. Lady Shiva was good. 

Cass was better.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim typed as fast as he could with one hand. He’d had practice from trying to type and drink coffee before, but it hadn’t mattered then. Every second counted now. If he could just..

There!

Another alarm blared as Tim took the ventilation offline. 

“Ah ah ah,  niños. That wasn’t very nice of you.”

  
  
Tim spun. 

Bane. 

“Dami, run,” Tim ordered, spinning his bo staff as best he could. It was for show. Tim would be hard pressed to beat Bane in combat on a good day, nevermind when he was injured, but he’d sacrifice his life any day if it meant Dami lived. “You’re compromised. You’ll only be in my way.” He hoped his brother could forgive Tim for making those his last words. 

“Run, little chico,” Bane laughed. “I will enjoy hunting you down.”

“Dami, go!” Tim hollered, pushing the boy. Dami gave Tim one last look, one of complete faith, before bolting out of the room. 

Bane cracked his knuckles. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

M’gann blasted her way through Deathstroke’s mind, shredding everything she could find. Twisting, warping, until he felt as jagged as she did. He screamed but it wasn’t loud enough, wasn’t shrill enough, to make up for what he’d done. So she took. Burned the earth and salted it behind her. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dick’s fingers tingled and his thoughts didn’t make any sense. His body should be doing things, should be breathing. It wasn’t. 

Everything faded away.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim hit the monitors, shattering them and filling his back with glass splinters. He slid to the floor, whimpering as he landed on his already injured arm. Bane let out a cruel little laugh. “This is like a snake getting into the rabbit hutch, eating all the little bunnies one at a-”

He was interrupted by Wonder Woman’s fist meeting his face, flying back to slam into a wall. “Mother’s home.” 

Tim thought that was an awesome note to lose consciousness on. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dick woke to darkness. 

Darkness and the memory of being strangled.

He gasped for air, his body no longer convinced that he had enough. He tried to jerk, to shift out of the position in which he lay, but he was held in place by firm restraints, padded leather he could feel against bare skin. He could escape. He knew he could escape. He was Nightwing-

Except he wasn’t. He didn’t want to be that anymore. 

So right now he was Dick and he was trapped and he couldn’t freaking see. 

Someone would come. Someone would be looking for him. Tim would-

Tim was dead. Deathstroke had killed him. A single blow from behind and Dick had lost another little brother. Tim and Kaldur and who knew how many other members of the Team. Oh god, what if Dick was the only one left?

He pulled again and could feel the moisture collecting on his own face. 

A hand firmly pushed him back onto the bed. “Shh, easy Dick.” Bruce’s command elicited an almost Pavlovian response, Dick’s muscle relaxing as the hand rested against his chest, right over his broken heart.

Dick didn’t know if he was strong enough to lose another brother. “Bruce. Tim-” 

“-is alive,” Bruce stated it as an irrefutable fact. “Your siblings are all alive and relatively unscathed.”

Oh thank god. Everyone was alive.

But Dick had seen Tim go down. It had been so real. The expression on his face, the way the light had just vanished before he hit the floor. It had been such a precise memory, too clean to have been caused by a simple hallucinogen. 

Oh. 

“Fear gas.”

“Yes,” Bruce’s hand trailed from Dick’s chest to his hand where he gave a squeeze.

Dick licked his lips, steeling himself for the next question. “Is that why I can’t see?”

“It’s just cloth,” Bruce promised. “You have a concussion and light’s been bothering you. Last time you threw up so we decided to avoid that unpleasantness.” 

“What do you mean ‘last time’?” Dick asked, cocking his head and wasn’t that a bad idea. Everything gave a strange shift to the side. 

Bruce began to absently run his thumb over Dick’s. “While your concussion is fairly mild, the Fear Gas is exacerbating your symptoms. This is the fifth time you’ve woken up and the fifth time we’ve had this conversation.”   


  
“Hence the restraints?”

“Hence the restraints.” He could practically hear Bruce nod. “Though this is the most coherent you’ve been by quite a bit. If you manage to stay awake for more than five minutes we can probably take them off.”

Dick puffed out his cheeks before blowing. “Yeah. That would be cool. I don’t have a daddy bondage kink.”

Bruce’s thumb stopped. “That’s...good?” He sounded a little strangled. 

Dick shuddered. It was still too early to think about strangulation. There were other things to focus on. Other, actually important things. “Where am I?”

“The Cave,” came the instant response. “Mountain Justice has been compromised too many times and is being retired.”

Dick snorted. “Man, Kaldur’s going to hate setting up a new base.”

Bruce’s hand stilled again before giving Dick’s another squeeze. “Dick,” he heard Bruce inhale. “Kaldur died in the attack.”

“What? No. That was the Fear Gas.” It had to have been. 

  
  
“Kaldur and La’gaan both died. I’m sorry.”   


  
Dick shook his head. “No. We just got him back. He can’t be- No, Bruce. You’re wrong!”

“It was fast,” Bruce said, as though that helped. “I know what he meant to you, Dick.”

“Shut up, Bruce. Shut up! You’re wrong. He’s not- He can’t be.”

“I’m sorry.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death.
> 
> Also, I know this is going to leave a lot of people reeling but give it 1 more chapter before you abandon it. Not all is as it seems I *promise*. There is a comfort element to this hurt comfort fic. This is just the darkest moment before dawn hits. 
> 
> I would also like to whine because this chapter is the most difficult thing I have ever written in my life. 
> 
> Next chapter is written and will be posted really soon. And seriously, wait for it before you decide you hate this story. 
> 
> Also, next chapter is *already* posted on my discord 
> 
> -> https://discord.gg/kxrhdPV <-


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are fallouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the follow up to the ride that was Chapter 12posted in a timely manner

Actions have consequences. 

Sometimes it was as simple as knocking a glass off the counter and watching it shatter as it hit the floor. Sometimes it was like flicking a domino and watching them all tip over, with a race against time to interrupt the cycle and save the last few. Sometimes it was triggering a Rube Goldberg machine. The trigger was known but everything else was too complex to follow until it spat out its horrible consequences. 

Tim had been the one to trigger this machine. 

The consequences were Dick’s pained silence, Garfield’s wailing outbursts. The way Conner had stopped asking to touch Tim, his hands unsubtly wrapping around Tim’s pulse point. They were how Dami was still hissing and lurching at shadows.

They were La’gann and Kaldur’s corpses. 

“Talk to me, Tim.” Bruce’s voice was soft but his words were still a command. 

“I’m fine.”   
  
Bruce let out a long suffering sigh, though Tim didn’t know what Bruce wanted from him. He  _ was _ fine, relatively speaking, and Bruce needed to not fracture his focus when his real sons needed his help.

“Your hand-”

“Is fine.” Bruising, a sprained tendon, but the bones had held. A couple weeks in a brace just to avoid aggravating it. 

Bruce started again. “Between the way the Fear Gas-”   
  
“I’m immune,” Tim cut him off harshly. Other Bruce had exposed him to as many different variants as he could to help Tim build an immunity. Other Bruce had even created a few strains himself to give Tim a wider range of immunity. So Tim and Cass hadn’t experienced reality bleeding into their greatest horrors. 

“- _ the way the Fear Gas _ ,” Bruce raised his voice, speaking over Tim, “affected your siblings, to which you bore witness, and your confrontation with both Clark and Bane, you are  _ not _ fine and no one expects you to be so.”   
  
Tim started to shrug but the gesture pulled at the sutures in his back. Alfred had spent over an hour pulling shards of glass and stitching the wounds left behind, though Tim’s hand had escaped serious damage. The pain Tim felt was a reminder that if Wonder Woman hadn’t shown when she had, Tim’s failure would have been absolute and Dami would be dead. He’d earned this hurt through his own incompetence. “I’ll heal.” Tim said with a complete lack of inflection. It was a fact. He would. 

Unlike La’gaan and Kaldur. 

“Tim….” 

“Leave me alone, Bruce.” Tim turned his head away to stare at the wall. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

Bruce slammed his hand into the punching bag, the shock reverberating up his arm. 

Physically, all of his children would be okay. Dami and Jay were completely unscathed and Cass had bruised knuckles that she wore with cat-like satisfaction. Dick was able to stay awake for longer periods at a time and the functionality of his short term memory appeared to have returned to baseline, though there were a few tests necessary before that could be declared with one hundred percent certainty. Tim’s hand injury was the best case scenario. He’d regain full functionality. The slices on his back, while painful, would heal. Tim would be fine. They’d all be fine. 

Physically.

The fight had sparked something dark in Cass. She was jumpy, ready to pounce. It was as though any sense of safety the Manor brought her was gone and the only strength she had to trust in was her own.

Jay was drowning in survivor’s guilt and the misplaced notion that if he’d been there maybe things would have been different. He could be right. There could have been more corpses. Bruce drove a knee into the bag. He could have lost Jay twice to his crusade even though Jay had retired and was off the field.

Dick was grieving in silence, both things that were true and those that were not. He’d given Bruce his report robotically, had demanded to see the footage of what actually happened versus what he had perceived, and had said nothing since Bruce denied him. Tim’s perceived death and the actual loss of Kaldur haunted the teen and Bruce had no comfort to give in the face of that. Healthily coping with death was not a skill that Bruce possessed. The last time he’d tried to ease Dick through this kind of grief he’d given the boy a cape and a mission that had destroyed his childhood and led to these very events. 

Tim was… Tim was backsliding, turning anger and guilt inwards instead of letting them pass through. He was holding onto the word ‘fine’ the same way he had his first few days, waving it the way someone faithless would still wave a cross to defend against a demon. He hadn’t had a panic attack yet, or given any signs of self harm, but he’d already begun to disassociate himself from the family. He’d asked after Bruce’s children as though he wasn’t included amongst them and Bruce didn’t know how to prevent that from festering. 

The worst- and between Tim and Jay Bruce had thought he’d seen the most damage the world could do to his children- was Dami. On the surface he appeared fine. Pieced-together security clips showed that Dami had thought he’d engaged his Mother, though once Lady Shiva had attacked he'd seemingly shaken off the worst effects of the gas, yelling denials as his mind conjured more illusions. Were Bruce an optimistic man he would have passed it off as training from the League of Assassins and found peace. 

He was not. 

Which was why he followed Dami closely through the eyes of the Manor security, watching as the boy spun randomly, as though something the microphones couldn’t detect had made noise. As he snarled snarky replies to voices only he could hear and pressed his hands over his ears and hummed, Bruce wanted to sob. They’d all been tested for residual toxins and hadn’t been released until their blood showed no traces, which left two explanations for Dami’s behavior. 

It was either psychosomatic, or the Fear Gas had permanently altered Dami’s brain. 

Bruce would support Dami, no matter what. Gotham had specialists for the after-effects of the more common methods of attack from Batman’s more creative rogues. The Joker, Ivy, and Mr Freeze all had doctors who followed their trails of destruction and tried to piece back people from their encounters. 

Scarecrow would be on that list. 

He had to be. 

And until he could book Dami in he would have to live with the fact that his life, that Batman’s life, had led to his eight year old son having a psychotic break. 

He snarled, driving his knuckles into the bag. Luthor had done this. To his son. To his  _ family _ . There was no proof- with Luthor there rarely was- but this scheme had the foul elegance of the man all over it. The seismic devices that had triggered the eruptions were beautiful in their design; brilliant, cutting edge technology that could be repurposed to save lives instead of destroy them if Luthor had a single shred of decency in his body. 

The timing of the attack on Mount Justice had been perfectly and coldly calculated, starting while the eruptions had reached their peak, demanding all of the efforts and focus of the League to save as many as they could. 

The attack itself had been an act of sheer sadism. Poisoning children in their sleep and murdering them while they fought off nightmares. They would have succeeded if Bruce hadn’t updated the alarms to run on a secondary system after Black Manta’s attack.

Frustratingly, only Scarecrow and Deathstroke had been caught. Deathstroke was little more than a foaming mess, and Scarecrow had raved madly to himself about his newest ingredient. 

Batman had raided Scarecrow’s base and found a chemical that caused Fear Gas to build slowly instead of its usual immediate effects. An agent LexCorp was working on to help maintain medicine blood levels while reducing the need for dosages. 

Bruce’s hand tore through the bag, sand trickling out from the hole and pooling on the floor. The trickle became a stream as Bruce worked his hand free, the bag deflating, becoming just another thing broken because of his actions, because of his anger.

His League communicator beeped. He answered it with a flick, sand gritting between his fingers, “Batman.”

“You’re needed at Watchtower. Immediately.” Diana demanded. 

Were it anyone else Bruce would have countered with the fact that he was needed here, but this was Diana. She was the sun to his starless sky, burning bright with truth while Bruce’s life was filled with shadows and lies. He trusted her. He didn’t know if she trusted him back or if she merely trusted him to be what he was, but he was certain in the knowledge that they were friends as much as they were teammates. 

If Diana said he was needed, then he was needed. 

“Why?” The question was an indictment, though not of her. He had enough to look after instead of babysitting the League. On top of his own children he’d also taken in Conner and Bart. Barry was trying to support the eating habits of himself as well as cope with the stresses that come from preparing to be a new father. He was in no place, either financially or emotionally, to take another speedster into his life at this time. And Conner….

Conner had nowhere else to go. 

It had been a universal decision that the distraught Garfield go with Dinah. She was both familiar to Garfield and the only person on the League to deal with the level of emotional distress the boy had experienced. J’onn had taken M’gann. To where, Bruce neither knew nor cared, as long as she stayed the fuck away from him and his. Any excuse that M’gann may have had for what she did to Deathstroke was lost under the weight of her crimes while  _ not _ under a chemical influence. Shredding his mind hadn’t been an instinct of her species but instead a prophecy of where her current behavioral patterns had been leading her and no one would be able to convince him otherwise. 

There was no one for Conner. Dinah would have taken him if Garfield’s needs weren’t so serious, Billy had offered but he was only a boy himself, and Diana had yet another god or demigod or ambitious witch interfering with her life. Nothing she couldn’t handle, but introducing someone with a weakness against magic into Diana’s care right now would only further destabilize the situation. 

And Bruce trusted no one else with the boy’s care.

“The League is convening to discuss Kal-El’s behaviour.”

“When?” Bruce tucked the communicator against his shoulder, freeing up his hands so he could begin unwinding the tape. 

“Ten minutes.” Diana’s voice was molten with rage. “I was made aware when The Flash contacted me to apologize that he would once again be late. ”

Bruce pulled on Batman, wearing the persona like a cloak cinched by rage as he moved to the case where the Batsuit was kept. “En route. Call Black Canary and Captain Marvel. I have a feeling they weren’t contacted either.” 

He flipped off the communicator and reached for his suit, pulling it on with the ease that had come from years of use. He was tugging on his gauntlets when a voice echoed across the cave. “Leaving, Sir?”

Batman turned to explain the situation, but hesitated when he saw the object in Alfred’s hands. A piece of long gleaming steel, the shotgun rested in Alfred’s hands as though it had been crafted for them. For the second time in as many weeks, Alfred had once again stunned Bruce into silence. This time though it had been a calculated decision, not a generational blunder, and Alfred looked absolutely unrepentant. 

Bruce hadn’t even known the butler kept a gun in the house. 

“Before you go, might I trouble you for a piece of kryptonite, Sir?” Alfred asked calmly, as though he was asking how Bruce felt about his dinner. 

There were a thousand questions on Bruce’s tongue, careful and prodding so as not to widen the gap between the two men even though Alfred had a  _ gun _ in Bruce’s house, but the one he ungraciously blurted was, “You’re going to  _ shoot _ Superman?”

Alfred, unflappably Alfred, looked baffled, as though Bruce had told him they could no longer afford tea. “Of course, Sir.” His face smoothed into something more neutral and his voice took on a hard edge. “I may not be ‘the Night,’ Master Bruce, but  _ Mister Kent, _ ” Alfred’s voice was full of venom, “harmed one of my grandchildren and he is one of a great many people who have threatened their physical safety as of late.” He gave the gun a gentle pat, as though it were an old, reliable friend. “I will ensure that such events are not repeated while you are away from the Manor.   
  


“I will also ensure their emotional safety, Master Bruce,” Alfred promised, his tone just as firm though his words were carefully plucked and placed, like scarlet roses harvested for an arrangement, “I will admit that I have expressed an… inappropriate bias that has caused harm and recent events have brought forth the realization that the time this family has is too precious for such judgements.” Alfred shook his head, a smile sad like a gloomy day clouding his face. “I am sorry and will make amends when Master Tim is strong enough for such a conversation. But for now, Sir, I will need the kryptonite.”

Just like that Bruce had his father back, steadying him even though he hadn’t realized he’d been so off balance. There was still a wound, but it was clean and closing. It might even heal without a scar. Bruce wanted to move to Alfred, to draw him into one of their rare hugs and just savor the touch of his family, but there was no time. 

Another strike against Clark. 

“The League is trying to settle the matter of Clark without me,” Bruce said as he dropped to his knees, pulling out a handle that blended perfectly into the wall. It popped up and he twisted, revealing a retinal scanner that flashed over his eye. The drawer popped open, exposing much of Bruce’s kryptonite cache. “Take what you need and close it behind you.”

He plugged Watchtower coordinates into the Batcomputer. The familiar hum of the zetas fired up. Bruce stepped towards the portal, his boots silent on the floor. He reached to grasp the sides of his cowl. “Alfred?”

“Yes, Sir?” 

“Thank you.” Bruce pulled his cowl up and Batman stepped through the portal. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Diana slammed her hands into the War Room doors, tossing them open hard enough to dent the walls they bashed into. The horseshoe table was nearly full of heroes and Diana could account for most of those not present. 

Every eye snapped to her and she stared back, rage bleeding off of her skin for all to see. 

  
Diana carried the Golden Perfect. That responsibility demanded that she be honest in word and in deed and she would not diminish herself before any man for any reason. Her silence would not buy peace, only quiet, so she stepped into that room ready to scream fury and bleed wrath.

Kal-El stood free and unashamed in the middle of the room. 

“Diana,” Captain Adam greeted her the same way Steve used to, back when she was new and had discovered a new horror in the World of Men. 

His attempts at handling her were insulting but a mere scratch compared to the stab wound in her back. “Who called this meeting?” No one answered and Diana stepped into the room. “ _ Who called this meeting? _ ” She was the princess of Themyscira and she would not be denied by  _ cowards. _

“I called it,” Kal-El said calmly. In a reasonable and rational tone he explained, “we need to resolve the issues brought up last meeting and it wasn’t doing anyone any favors to have it put off.” 

Put off? This was no picnic, cancelled due to foul weather. Members of the Team had been murdered, distracted by illusions before being stabbed in the back. There was no honorable combat. It was no warrior’s death. Those who had survived had not escaped unscathed and it was the League’s responsibility to ensure that what wounds could be healed were. As reprehensible as Kal-El’s actions had been, the safety of the Team should have come as a priority. 

“Why was I not informed?” Diana snapped, her voice breaking the air like the crack of a whip. 

Silence hung like the Sword of Damocles.

Hal Jordan’s voice cut the horse’s hair. “Because you can’t see both sides, Diana.”   
  
“Both sides?” She  _ burned _ . 

Hal sighed and Diana could see he was exhausted. She didn’t care. “It’s a complicated issue that isn’t black and white. You don’t have a secret identity. You can’t understand what it feels like to have that exposed.” Diana’s fists tightened, her nails biting into her palms. “Face it. You’ll learn the facts but that’s not going to give you the knowledge needed to make a fair decision. Your decision is going to be emotional, and that’s not what this situation calls for.” 

For a moment she stilled, stunned into silence by her own lividity. She’d been told that she was too emotional before, that she was too loud, and she took up too much space. Many had tried to force her into a tiny box of silence and smiles, to stuff her into their tiny dainty clothes as though she were a decoration to sit in the corner while the men spoke. 

She had never had it happen from an ally. 

“And me?” Captain Marvel asked, having crept into the room behind her. “Why did no one tell me?” 

“You’re twelve, Billy. This is a bit beyond you,” Kal-El said in exasperation. Behind him people shifted in discomfort. It brought Diana a futile amount of comfort, a band-aid over a bullet hole that was seeping life’s blood. 

“It’s Captain Marvel,” he corrected stiffly, “and I am a member of the League until the time comes that my membership is revoked or when I choose to leave.” He lifted his chin mulishly, the way he did in combat when it did not look like he could turn the tide of battle. “I have been a member of the League for seven years and I possess the Wisdom of Solomon. You will not dismiss my opinion without having heard it.    
  
“And I’m fifteen.”

“Ah,” Oliver opened his mouth. “Maybe we should all sit down so we can get this started, and then discuss whose invitation got lost in the mail?”

As much as Diana wanted to lift the table and toss it through a wall, Oliver had a point. The past could not be undone and now was not the time to vent her rage. It would be dealt with, oh it would certainly be dealt with, but the judgement of Kal-El had become the more pressing issue. 

She moved to take her seat when another voice cracked through the air. “Oh. Is that what happened, Ollie? My invitation got lost in the fucking mail?”

The archer sputtered as Dinah slammed herself into her chair, glaring at Oliver with the evil eye entire time. Her hair was tied back messily and her skin shone with sweat. She was breathing hard and instead of her usual attire she was dressed in sports gear: tight pants and a form fitting tank top. Diana was grateful that she’d dropped everything to come. 

“Dinah-” Oliver whined and Dinah cut him off with a scoff. 

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking try. Let’s get this over with so I can take a shower.”

Grimly, Diana sat, taking her place next to Dinah. She was still so irate that she was shaking, but there was a comfort that the other woman’s rage matched her own. They were sisters in this battle and no one was going to dismiss them for being passionate.

“Okay,” Hal said tensely, “I think it’s about time we call the meeting to order.”

“We’re still missing the Flash,” said Bruce. 

“Yeah, but he’s always-holy shit. Um. Hi, Batman.” 

Though Bruce swore he was without gifts, that he had only his wits and his gadgets, there were times like now when Diana swore he had powers. No one had noticed him slide silently into the room. It was as though he was a shadow and he’d merely appeared because of how the light had struck. He took his seat next to Captain Marvel. “You’re surprised to see me.” 

It was not a question. 

People shifted. Some anxiously. Some guiltily. Bruce would be able to better parse who was responsible for trying to bar their presence. 

“Hey Batman,” Oliver rubbed the back of his neck. “We didn’t want to pull you away from your sidekicks’ bedside. We’re all sorry to hear how hurt they were.” Everyone was suddenly keenly aware of Arthur and J’onn’s empty spaces. 

Bruce didn’t bother to respond and it was as though the room dimmed. A couple of newer members shifted nervously, glancing at the corners of the room. 

A flash of scarlet appeared in the room. “Hey, guys!” Barry said brightly, not picking up on the mood. “Did I miss much?”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Actions have consequences. 

“Dude, I am so boooored. Why don’t we play cards? Tim can play cards like this,” Bart chattered, as he had for the last fifteen minutes, searching for things for them to do together. Tim found it grating. He just wanted to process, to find a way to live with himself knowing that he got two members of the Team killed. 

“We’re not playing cards,” Conner said, his voice rough with emotions. 

“Dice?”

The handles of Conner’s armchair snapped, reducing the wood to splinters. “Dammit, Bart. What the fuck is wrong with you? Kaldur is  _ dead _ !” Conner snarled. 

Bart raised an eyebrow in wary confusion. “Yeah, but, like, that’s what happens?”

Tim hadn’t thought the numb horror he was floating in could get any worse but Bart’s words chilled his bones. 

“So why aren’t you  _ mourning? _ I thought he was your friend?!” Conner tore his gaze to the corner of the bed and Tim could see him blinking rapidly to keep his eyes dry.

“Oh, yeah, Kaldur was totally my friend!” Bart assured carefully, as though these were entirely unnavigated waters. “And I’m gonna miss him, but people die all the time. I can’t spend my life feeling sad over that. I wouldn’t get anything done.”

Tim didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to ask. “Did Other Tim teach you that?”

Bart gave a cheerful nod. “Yeah. And it’s great he did because if I fell apart every time someone died I would have been absolutely useless. We had a few people who were like that. They were absolute dead weight and it was always a relief when they died off.” 

Tim rolled over and vomited on the carpet, his back screaming as his stitches pulled. 

It was a welcome distraction from what Other Tim had raised Bart to be. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x 

“I’m not proud of myself,” Superman’s voice carried solemnly through the room. That was the thing about Superman. Even though he had the Lasso of Truth wrapped around his arm, it was the utter earnestness of his voice that had everyone convinced. Billy could already see people nodding along to Superman’s words, but he didn’t need the Wisdom of Solomon to know that regretting something after the fact didn’t make it unhappen, didn’t prevent it from happening again. 

He’d lived on the streets far too long to believe that. 

“I freely admit to using physical force on Tim Wayne and inflicting moderate injury,” Superman said with shame, “and I am grateful for the intervention that prevented the situation from escalating.” Superman straighed, his legs shoulder width apart, arms at his side, and his chin raised. “I was distressed and thinking emotionally, which is a luxury that I don’t have.”

No, he didn’t. But  _ none _ of them did. Billy and Diana also had super strength. Barry could punch someone at mach five. Nathaniel oozed radiation and J’onn could scramble someone’s brain. Batman could… well, distraught Batman was really scary and Billy was just going to leave it at that. 

“However, I believe that it is important to examine the events that led up to this event.” Superman took a moment to make eye contact with every single person in the room. Billy could feel himself instinctively sitting up straighter even as he leaned in to better hear what Superman had to say. The Wisdom of Solomon whispered. How facts were presented were just as important as facts themselves. 

Superman was a reporter. He knew how to write a story using facts.

Superman took in a deep breath and exhaled audibly through his nose. “As members of the League, we have founded this organization based on trust. Trust in each other’s skill, but also trust with our greatest weaknesses: our families. 

“My trust was violated.” Superman paused, allowing his words to sink in. Billy could see that they were landing hard. Hal and Barry both looked grim and Oliver was nodding with Superman’s every word. Nathaniel was tapping his fingers. The words also resonated with Billy. He’d had a secret identity, one that had been outed due to circumstances instead of choice. 

Not his favorite memory. 

“Tim and Conner went to visit both my parents and my civilian wife-” there was a snort so soft that Billy wasn’t sure if Batman had actually made the noise or if Billy had hallucinated it “-while I was on the mission to Gamma Palioxis.” Superman shifted, his hands squeezing into fists. “Had this happened under other circumstances, I would have chalked this up to a childish error in judgement, but I wasn’t the one orginally signed up for the mission. There was a change to the team that no one signed off on.”

“I was supposed to go,” Hal piped up. “I didn’t really care one way or the other when my name got removed.”

Superman nodded. “I also didn’t think it was that big of a deal but now I can see that it was part of Tim’s plan.” Superman lowered his chin gravely. “And there is no mistake that this was a plan.” Billy sat patiently, hoping that Superman would shift from the mechanics to the motivations. He understood that a lot of people here were missing the how, but Billy was waiting on the ‘why’ and ‘to what end’. 

“Tim has shown time and time again that Watchtower's digital defences are nothing to him. I strongly believe that he switched the mission roster so that I would be off planet and unable to stop him while he interfered in my personal life in a way that was designed to cause maximum damage.” Superman closed his eyes, a steadying gesture. When he next spoke his voice was wet. “He succeeded. My wife has thrown me out, I don’t know if I am welcome back to my parents’ home, and even my workplace keeps asking after my ‘younger brother’.” 

Superman’s expression darkened. “I get that a lot of you don’t understand and don’t agree with my stance on Conner, but I can’t forgive him for being Lex’s child despite that not being his fault. The best thing for both of us is for him not to be in my life so I don’t take my resentment out on him any further than I already have.”

Superman’s words were calm, measured. Nothing like the man they’d brought back from the mountain, raving about how the teens involved were evil and out to get him. That didn’t change that he’d been wearing the lasso then.   
  
Superman crossed his arms behind his back, forcing Diana to give the lasso a little more slack. “That option has been taken from me. Tim has irrevocably inserted Conner into my family at the expense of my relationships with them and when I approached Tim after discovering this I was _distraught_ and not thinking rationally. My family is the most important thing in the world to me and Tim damaged my relationships with them.

  
“Yes,” Superman shuddered as though his skin was crawling, “I don’t want Conner. I didn’t choose to have him and I can’t love him. Judge me for that all you want but that doesn’t change that and I have the right to not be involved in his life. I have trained him to use his powers because there was no one else, but I never set up the expectation that there would be anything more. 

“This incident has permanently inserted Conner into my life at the expense of my own relationships with my family and I overreacted. For that I’m sorry,” Superman finished, shoulders square and his tone level. 

Diana stood, her lips still curled into a sour face. “I open the floor up to discussion.”

“Lois really threw you out?” Oliver asked, his voice a mix of sympathy and surprise. 

Superman nodded. “Yes. She’s not answering my calls and she told Perry that she’s on vacation until she decides to come back.” 

Barry let out a low whistle. “I’m sorry, man.” Barry knew what it was like to have family tantalizingly close and just out of reach. 

“Things aren’t looking to be much better with Ma and Pa,” Superman hunched his shoulders and Billy knew if he had pockets his hands would be in them. 

He was surprised when he realized that he felt bad for Superman. Family was important. Billy knew  _ exactly _ how precious it was and he knew the trauma of losing it. Most of the people in this room did. The part of him that was Solomon acknowledged his own sorrow, recognized that questions he was about to ask would add to Superman’s pain, and readied himself to ask them anyway.

“Why?”

Superman turned to Billy. “Excuse me?”

“Why is everyone so mad they met Conner?” 

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. Captain Atom let out an awkward cough.

Superman opened his mouth, silence pouring out. The lasso flared and his lips began to form words. “They aren’t angry they met Conner.” 

Billy leaned forward. “So why are they mad?”

The lasso glowed again. “They’re angry I never told them about him.”

The air shifted. It was subtle, like the building of ozone before lightning hit. “They’re mad you lied,” said Diana. A condemnation, not a question. 

Superman nodded.

But there were more questions to be asked, Solomon whispered. There is a difference between the truth and honesty. “Is that the only reason they’re angry?”

Superman went rigid. “No.”

“Why else?” buzzed Red Tornado’s voice. It was impossible to get a read on what the android was thinking. Given how much time he’d spent at Mount Justice when the Team first formed, Red Tornado was bound to have as much of an emotional connection as the android was capable of forming with Conner. 

Superman dropped his arms back to his side, clenched so tightly his knuckles were going white. “Lois is angry that I revealed Tim and Conner’s sexual relationship to Batman. Ma and Pa are upset that I don’t approve of Tim dragging Conner down.”

“Last time you said Tim was a monster,” Dinah chimed in, steepling her fingers. “Explain what you meant.”

Superman’s hands twitched and Billy was certain it was because he’d wanted to cross his arms. “I think Tim has the capacity and is on the trajectory to do great harm,” Superman said diplomatically. “When he doesn’t get his way he lashes out with the intention of doing as much damage as he possibly can.” Superman held up his hands and started counting things off of his fingers. “He hacked Watchtower and destroyed the Hall of Justice. He engaged in a conspiracy to go behind the Team’s back, the League’s back, and  _ framed _ Luthor for pedophilia. He arranged for Vandal Savage to murder the Brain.

“He shot another Tim. It doesn’t matter if it was an alternate version or a future version. Tim  _ murdered  _ someone with the intent to do so.

“He’s been here less than a year and he’s wreaked nothing but havoc. His actions towards me were not a childish fit but a cold and calculated retaliation when there were a hundred other, more appropriate ways of handling the situation.”

Oliver let out a humorless chuckle. “And here I thought Roy was a little shit disturber.”

Everyone ignored him. “Tim is well on his way to becoming the next Lex Luthor and he needs to be stopped before that happens. If Batman can’t bring him to heel then someone else needs to.”

His words echoed through the room leaving a grim silence as they faded into nothingness. It was punctuated by the occasional squeak as people shifted awkwardly. 

Batman rose to his feet and held out an arm. “Diana?” he asked. Without a word she wrapped the lasso around his gauntlet, connecting him to Superman with a golden strand. 

Billy blinked and almost missed it.    
  
Batman jerked back on the lasso. Superman, unprepared, stumbled forward and caught himself on the table. Batman’s fist drove itself into Superman’s face. The Kryptonian staggered back, blood on his brow. Batman’s fingers were decorated with brass knuckles that glowed an acidic green. 

Without preamble he pulled them off, sliding them under his cloak. 

No one moved.

“Tim is not on trial,” Batman said in the same flat tone he always used. “As my son the consequences of his actions are for me to decide and have no bearing here. This meeting was called to examine Superman’s behaviour and to come to a decision on how to deal with that behaviour. The facts are that Superman attacked Tim. Medical reports,” Bruce pulled up a holographic screen to shine in the middle of the table, “indicated that luck alone is why Tim should recover all function.

“Loss of control to that level needs to be handled.”

“You have to admit,” Oliver spoke up, “Tim provoked it.”

“I wasn’t aware we were in the habit of blaming victims,” Dinah said acidically, glaring fiercely at Oliver. 

Batman held himself silently for a moment before speaking, his voice having dropped into the tone of a dirge. “Superman came to my home, to  _ Tim’s _ home, to inform me that Tim and Conner are seeing each other romantically and he did so with the intent of getting my help to separate them. The fallout from that act has been significant, both publicly and privately. Tim’s reaction was by no means unprovoked. 

“Nor is it as ruthless as Superman claims. Tim exposed that Superman was lying to his family. No more, no less. Tim also provided his boyfriend a familial support structure that Superman had no right to deny him. Even children adopted out are allowed to reach out to other members of the family if rejected by the parent.”    
  
Batman seemed to swell like a cloud of smoke, like a shadow in the sunset. “Tim is also not a member of the Team. He is also not an active vigilante. 

“And he is no match for Superman in a fight.”

With that, Batman unwrapped his arm and handed the slack back to Diana. She yanked, drawing Superman close so she could unwind the lasso from his arm as well. Billy didn’t miss the way he flinched as he stumbled towards the table again. 

Diana clipped the lasso onto her hip. “We have heard the evidence,” she said clearly, her voice cutting through the air like a church bell. “Now we must decide what we shall do. Kal-El, please step outside while we discuss the matter.”

Billy studied the faces of the room and prepared himself for a long, emotional debate. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Actions have consequences. 

The room was empty save for him and Dexter, Alfred having gently kicked everyone out so Tim could get some sleep, but his thoughts had the same presence of a physical person. They nattered in his ear running through what ifs and what’s next. He bounced between what he could have done, to how he could have prevented all of this, to plots to prevent Luthor from  _ ever _ harming anyone again. 

But that didn’t change things. La’gaan and Kaldur were dead. There was no magic fix. The Lazarus pits only saved those near death. Even Jay had been alive when they’d tossed him in. Nearly vegatative, but alive. 

The only way for this to change was if it had never happened in the first place. 

Tim nearly bolted up right with realization, hissing as he fell back onto the bed. Dexter yowled, shifted from being in the crook of Tim’s good arm to crawling onto his chest with a glare. He flexed his claws hard enough for Tim to feel them but not enough to draw blood. A warning to stay lying down. 

“Sorry, Dexter,” Tim muttered, giving the cat a pat. Apparently that was enough to soothe the animal and Dexter flopped over, draping himself over Tim. 

Tim could do this. Or undo this, as the case was. He’d already invented time travel twice in the future. He’d be damned if he couldn’t do it a third time. 

He was going to  _ save _ them. 

Actions had consequences but Tim would be damned if these were the ones he lived with.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will a bit of a wait because I need to revamp my brain. I'd like to thank all my editors and such for catching my I Wrote This At Midnight mistakes. I'm going to go read other people's works for a while while you all let this sink in. ;D
> 
> Thanks for reading. I love all your comments. Sorry I don't always respond but there are so many of love, so here's a huge shout out now!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's really fond of his latest idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait ()-.-

Dami’s dagger was going to be a problem.

“Why do you not stay where I put you?” he hissed at the blade as he patrolled the hallway again. Pennyworth had commented that Dami had awoken early, but the truth was that he had not slept. He needed to be ready in case of an attack. 

He would not be caught off guard again. 

_You keep trying to tuck me under the floorboards. That’s so boring! You’ve got this giant house and all these places to explore. Of course I’m gonna hang out with you._

Dami glanced around, ensuring that he was alone before mumbling to the dagger again. “We are not ‘hanging out’. Grayson and Timothy are both too injured to fight. It is necessary to be proactive in maintaining our defenses.” 

_Oh…._ The blade sounded disappointed. _I was hoping we wouldn’t have to fight anymore people._ Dami pulled the blade free so he could stare at it incredulously. _What?_ It whined. _I’m tired of fighting._

“You are a knife!” Dami scowled. “Your function is to fight!”

_I can peel apples._

“What?!”

_I. Can. Peel. Apples. It’s all Jonah ever used me to do. He was kinda grumpy, like you, until he really got to know me._

“I will _not_ be using you for something as pedestrian as peeling apples,” Dami snarled. “It would be my preference that you simply stay where I set you!”

He got the impression of a shrug. _It doesn’t work like that. Once I wake up I’m stuck to you until I fall back asleep again. I had a guy throw me into the ocean, which was kinda scary, but before I got too deep I was in his belt again._

“I am going back to that shop and murdering everyone there,” Dami grumbled. “I cannot believe they sold me a cursed blade.”

_Please don’t use me to kill those people? I really really really really_ **_really_ ** _hate killing people. Or animals. It makes me sad._

Of course. The knife Dami had purchased to defend Timothy with was cursed with the personality of an annoying child who did not enjoy violence. The weapon was worse than defective, it was _irritating_ , and in order to rid himself of it he would have to reveal his purchase to others, which would leave him open to admonishments. It was no wonder that Father hated magic.

Dami was at a loss of what to do. He was loath to admit his miscalculation to Father, especially given the current circumstances, but he was at a loss as to what to do with the blade. It was apparently bonded to him.

Then again… it was _bonded_ to him. It could not be removed from his person, even if he tried. No one would be able to pry it from his hands. 

Not a Kryptonian. 

Not _Grandfather_.

_No one._

Dami would _never_ be unarmed again. Timothy would never again be without a defender. Dami would cover for the other’s, for the Clone’s, inadequacies. 

The blade could also shift in length, making it something that was both easy to conceal yet with a long range. The subtlety of an assassin’s dagger with the power of a ninja’s sword. In the hands of a master it could easily become the most formidable blade ever wielded. Dami had a master’s hands. 

And a cursed blade could stab a great many things that would stop normal steel. 

Dami hummed. He stared down at the blade thoughtfully. The blade widened and thinned, as though shifting its feet back and forth. _What?_ And Dami could hear the nervousness in his tone. 

“You may actually have some value to me.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

Conner growled. 

Tim obviously hadn’t slept.

He had managed to prop himself up and was sitting awkwardly on the pillows as he typed furiously on his phone with his uninjured hand and an intimidating pace. The angry furball he called a cat was resting on his chest and he had that same manic edge that he’d carried when he’d plotted against Superman and Conner was exhausted at the thought of having to talk Tim down from whatever revenge scheme he had stewing. They’d lost and no stupid plan was going to make this any better. 

Conner just wanted to mourn.

Tim looked up, a crazed grin splitting his face. “Conner! Conner, you won’t believe the idea I’ve had!”

Conner sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “You need to sleep, Tim.” He reached for the phone. 

Tim jerked it away, out of Conner’s reach and Dexter hissed quietly. “I can sleep later! Right now I have things to do.”

Conner stood and used a hand to brace himself against the bed. He leaned over and snatched the phone away, ignoring Tim’s indignant squawk. Dexter yowled and swiped at Conner’s stomach before leaping off the bed and bolting out of the room. He pulled the phone into his own lap, holding it in a grip that Tim wouldn’t have been able to rescue it from even if he was unharmed. It took a lot of concentration to not grind the device into dust. “Enough, Tim.”

“But I have an _idea,_ ” Tim whined. 

“No,” Conner didn’t snap but there was an edge to his voice that wasn’t just grief. “I’m not doing this. Not anymore. I’m not joining you in an elaborate plan to get back at whoever did this. I’ve known Kaldur my entire life, Tim. I just- it’s over. We lost. Just leave it at that and let me grieve.”

Tim reached out and gently placed his hand over Conner’s. “I’m not planning revenge. Look at my phone,” he said earnestly, eagerly. 

It was Tim’s tone that gave Conner the energy to play along, if only for a moment. Conner wrinkled his brow as he pulled free, turning the device over to swipe the screen open, revealing a series of equations. “Relativity theory?” he muttered, before turning to a smug looking Tim. 

“Time travel.”

“Time travel,” Conner echoed flatly. 

Tim gave him a grin that was almost crazed. “Time travel,” he reaffirmed. “I’ve already invented it twice so it’s a proven concept. Future Evil me only took eleven years to solve it and I’m sure that he didn’t start investigating it until after we met. 

“With you and Bart we can probably do it much faster,” Tim said, as much to himself as he did to Conner. “I know Batman stored Bart’s time machine somewhere and he’s bound to know a little bit about the construction.” He rubbed his thumb on Conner’s thigh absently in small figure eights, crossing over its own path over and over again. “You can help with the math.”

Conner looked from Tim to the phone back to Tim again. “This is insane,” he said even as something fluttered in his chest.

“Why?” Tim challenged. His thumb stopped its course. “Your math skills are _wasted_ on cards. You knew exactly what those equations were with just a glance. You’re so smart, Conner. With your help this will be a breeze.”

Conner shook his head. “No, that’s not what I-,” he scrubbed a hand through his hair. Words. They weren’t coming right now.

Tim frowned, his thumb resuming its journey. “It’s okay. Take a minute,” he murmured.

Conner inhaled. “Time travel.” Saying it outloud didn’t make it feel any less surreal. “What are the consequences if we fail?” Conner demanded. Tim shifted and Conner’s face morphed into a scowl. “You didn’t think that far, did you? Just like you didn’t think about the consequences of messing with Clark.”

Tim’s face went dour, his eyes shuttering like windows before a hurricane. 

He pulled his hand back, the absence leaving a patch of burning cold. 

Conner’s eyes fell towards his own lap. “I always think that far ahead,” Tim said, his tone stony and grim. “I knew the risk I was taking with Clark. He managed to bypass my warning systems, so what happened was in the realm of worst case scenarios but it wasn’t one I hadn’t thought about.”

“Then why?” Conner growled. “He could have killed you. If you knew that then why would you risk pissing him off?”

“Because you deserve a family,” Tim said simply. Conner brought his gaze up towards his boyfriend. Tim looked so sincere before his face morphed into a sheepish smile. “Revenge and pie were also motives.” Tim placed his hand back on Conner’s thigh, as though it had never left. “He had no right to keep you from the Kents.”   
  
They sat there in a soft silence, Conner’s chest tight and full of things that he mostly couldn’t explain. With M’gann it had been so easy to just pour himself into her, but maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d come to rely on that so heavily that he’d never bothered to learn the words. 

“So?” Bart asked, flashing into the room with a gust. “Are you guys done being sad so we can go mode someone’s day?”

Tim’s fingers curled into Conner’s thigh and he knew if he’d been human it would have hurt. Tim had grown tense in a way that he’d never been before in front of Bart. “No, Bart.” His voice was tight. “We are going to keep being sad but possibly fix it.”

Bart frowned for a moment. “Fix it through vengeance.”

Tim grew a little more jagged with every word that came out of Bart’s mouth. “No, I mean fix it through fixing it. Time travel is tried and true. I just need to discover it again.”

Bart flopped onto the foot of Tim’s bed, making the other boy wince as the mattress bounced. “It’s a crash idea but it’s not going to work.” Bart fidgeted, his fingers blurring. “Time travel isn’t the hard part. You, Future You I mean, had time travel figured out ages before I got sent back. It’s paradoxes and reality splits that are the issue.”

He kicked a foot out, thumping it against the bed. “I don’t really get it, but it's the difference between other future you, the creepy one who kidnapped us, and me.” Conner held his breath. No one talked about Tim shooting his future self. No one. “If you shoot me my body’s going to hang around,” Bart said with a shrug. 

“And I suppose it took me ages to figure out the paradox thing?” Bart nodded. “Shit,” Tim grumbled. “If this takes too long I could make things worse instead of fixing the whole thing.”

Conner frowned. Kaldur was dead. Things didn’t exactly get much worse. “Explain,” he demanded. 

Tim shrugged, then winced. “Odds shift. Maybe we save Kaldur and lose Dick and Dami. Or the entire League. The longer this takes the more factors there are. Unless,” Tim went to stroke his chin, forcing Conner to catch his arm. 

“That’s your bad hand.” His boyfriend was stupid. Conner loved Tim, but for being a genius he was an idiot. 

Tim responded by clicking the roof of his mouth. “If we get started I think I can figure out the rest.”

There was a soft knock at the door, making everyone jump. Conner squeezed Tim’s hand sympathetically as the boy rode out the pain from the movement. “Tim?” Bruce Wayne called tentatively.

It was weird seeing an emotionally vulnerable Batman. Conner’s first meeting with Bruce had been strange and at odds with how someone would see Batman in his civilian life, but watching him float between the rooms of his injured children like normal, worried parents did on TV shattered a lot of Conner’s preconceptions. 

It was strange to see Batman hurt and he wanted to help, if only to thank Bruce for taking him and Bart in. Conner didn’t know how he’d handle not being able to hear Tim’s heart beat, his breathing patterns, after what had happened in the mountain. 

He’s pretty sure it would have driven him crazy. But he didn’t know how to talk to Bruce about this, how to express what having Conner here meant. 

“I’m awake,” Tim called once his breathing was back under control. Bruce let himself into the room, bringing in tension and gloom with him. 

“Bart. Conner.” He looked at both boys with a weary expression. “Could you go help Alfred? I need to speak with Tim.” Bart opened his mouth because that’s what Bart did and Bruce cut him off. “Alone.”

Conner looked over to Tim who looked deceptively relaxed. He gave the barest of nods so Conner grabbed Bart’s arm, tugging him out of the room. “I’m not allowed to help Alfred,” Bart bemoaned. “He specifically ordered me not to help him.” 

“Then we’ll go check on Dick.”

“You shall not!” Conner looked up to the ceiling as he tried to gather his strength before turning around to look at Dami. “Grayson is _asleep_ and Father’s hospitality is easily revoked.” His eyes narrowed and he twisted to stare at his own hip. “Hush. I am not being mean, I am being assertive.”

Conner looked at Bart. They shared a shrug. “If he’s not awake we can hang out with you,” Conner offered. 

Dami scoffed. “Now is hardly the time to ‘hang out’,” and Conner could hear the derision between the air quotes. “We must fortify our defenses to prevent another attack.” 

Conner tilted his head, something about Dami’s voice catching his attention. He stopped to really study the boy, taking in the red eyes, sloppy hair, and rumpled clothes. Conner had become so used to Tim looking that way that it had become something he didn’t really notice anymore. It was obviously something he needed to work on. “Dami,” Conner tried for stern but he didn’t have it in him, “when was the last time you slept?”

There was a gush of air and Conner knew he’d been abandoned to handle this. 

Dami snarled. “I mastered the art of going without sleep when I was five,” he snarled. “Indulging in such a luxury now is utter foolishness.”

Conner rolled his eyes and grabbed the kid, tucking him under his arms. Dami kicked and hissed like a furious kitten but could do little against Conner’s strength, especially when Conner had managed to pin the boy’s arms to his side. It didn’t stop Dami from trying. “You will rue this day, Clone. You will spend the rest of your life sleeping with an eye open, knowing that I shall come for you for causing such humiliation.” Dami paused in his tirade. “Yes, of course it is a big deal as it seems. My honor has been impinged upon.” 

Conner was careful not to tighten his grip in growing grief. He liked Dami, despite the boy’s faults and he knew that Tim absolutely adored his little brother. No one had told Tim about the side effects of the gas on the kid, hoping Dami would recover. 

So far he showed no signs. Conner wanted to punch something.

“We’re going to sleep,” he said, carrying Dami the short distance to his room. Conner gently tossed the boy onto the bed before landing on him, shifting just enough of his weight to trap the child without causing him pain. 

“Get off me you oaf!” Dami screeched. 

“Can’t,” Conner said, his voice muffled by the bedding. “Sleeping.” 

The boy let out a put upon sigh and Conner lay there silently until the boy’s breathing evened out. Conner struggled for the same relaxation and focused on Tim’s voice. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim bit his lip. Bruce looked _exhausted._ He’d spent the last few days looking so, but there was something heavier in it this time. 

“Is everyone okay?” Tim asked, fear churning in his stomach. Last he’d heard Dick was healing. He couldn’t go check himself due to his own injuries and Dick couldn’t come to him for the same reasons, but everyone had reported progress. 

“ _Dick’s_ doing better,” Bruce said as he sat at the foot of Tim’s bed, right where Bart had been. There was a subtle emphasis on Dick’s name that Tim didn’t understand. Only him and Dick had been hurt to any degree. 

“Okay…” Tim drew out the word. “So what’s going on?” Something had happened. There was a loaded tension in the room, like an elastic ready to snap. 

“The League convened to discuss Superman.”  
  


Oh. So this was business. Tim put on his best serious face. He needed Bart to grab him some coffee. Bart would totally sneak him coffee. 

Bruce’s eyes were tight, his mouth set in a dissatisfied line. “He’s on temporary leave and only to be contacted in the event of a world-ending catastrophe. If he uses his powers anywhere outside of Metropolis without approval he will be permanently expelled by the League.”

Tim nodded along as he absorbed the information. That was actually a lot harsher a punishment than he was expecting Superman to face because, well, Superman. Tim had hit him where it hurt and he’d expected the hero to have a lot more sympathizers on his side. He’d actually been pretty sure that Superman was going to just be told not to do it again and maybe get the cold shoulder from Captain Marvel for a while. 

“They’ve also laid restrictions on you and Conner.” Ah. So apparently Tim hadn’t been wrong about Clark’s sympathizers. Bruce’s mouth twisted down into deep disapproval at the encroachment. Neither version of Bruce liked it when people interfered with how he ran his household. “You’re not to go to Metropolis or to have any contact with Lois Lane,” well, that worked for as long as Lois decided it worked for her, “or the Kents.”

Hell no. “The League has no right to police who Martha and Jonathan see.” Tim had put too much planning into giving Conner a family to let people with a floating fortress and too tight underwear undo that decision.

“You’re not going to fight this,” Bruce said harshly. 

Tim could feel his brain stutter as he gasped, trying to stay in the present. He gripped at the bed cloths beneath his hand but the texture wasn’t enough to send him sliding into another memory. 

“You’re not going to fight this,” Batman said coldly, his knuckles taped. “It doesn’t matter how good you are, how strong you can hit or fast you can dodge. You are going to take a hit and if you can’t handle the pain you need to walk out of here now.” 

Tim wanted to desperately ask if this was how Bruce had taught Dick, had taught Jason, but he bit his lip instead. Batman needed a Robin. If this was what he had to do to save Batman, to save Gotham, then he didn’t have a choice. 

He bit his lip harder as Batman approached and fought the urge to take a step back. At least his hands were bare, Tim told himself. Bare hands couldn’t hit as hard. People didn’t really start to die in boxing until the glove was invented. Tim would be fine. He could handle a punch. 

He swore the fist whistled as it rushed at his ribs. 

It hit him with a gentle slap across the face. “Dammit, Tim! Five things! What do you see?”

Tim blinked as the room slid back. “Sorry,” he muttered, bringing his hands up to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. His face felt fine but his back burned. Had he popped a stitch?  
  
Bruce caught Tim’s forearm, his hand wrapping around Tim’s splint, and set it down on the bed. He brought his own hand up to wipe away the tears on that side of Tim’s face. Bruce sighed and let his body droop until his forehead touched Tim’s ribs. He stayed like that for a moment before looking up into Tim’s eyes. 

Bruce looked like he was as old as Other Bruce, but it was grief pulling at his face. 

“Tim,” his voice was strained, “you’re going to obey the mandate set down by the League. We can contest it _later,_ when you’re in better shape. Right now you’re injured and you’re stressed.”

“I’m fine.”

Bruce didn’t even bother to put on a skeptical face. “You’ve recently had a major dissociative episode and you just had a flashback. It’s been ages since you had a flashback.”

Tim tilted his head, breaking eye contact. “I’ve got it under control.”

Bruce reached out, slowly and gently, and began to card Tim’s hair. “You don’t and that’s okay. We’re here for you. But Tim, you need to let us help. You have to start meeting me halfway.” Bruce sounded spent. “No more schemes. There isn’t a traitor anymore and you know I’m not trying to hurt you. There were better ways to handle Clark and I would have helped. 

“Just,” Bruce’s hand tugged his hair a little. Not enough to hurt but it was a definite tug. “No more going off on your own. If you have an idea, bring it to me and I will _help_. Can you promise me that, Tim? Can you trust me with that?”

Tim twisted, his eyes meeting Bruce’s. He hummed in consideration before giving the barest of nods. “Okay. I’ll trust you.

“I promise.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Bart sat in a meadow somewhere in Canada, pulling the petals off of clover one at a time. He’d been doing it long enough that his fingers were stained green. 

Bart felt just as lost as he had when he’d arrived in the past to discover that _Tim wasn’t there_. He’d been alone, a complete outsider to a world that treated all these minor things as consequential and he’d been the only one to know it was all going to burn. 

He really didn’t understand why everyone was so upset. Especially Tim. Tim was used to people dying, even before the Meltdown. He’d lost his own parents and friends so close he considered them family. 

And Bart? Bart’s father had been dead for a long time but his mother, a woman who’d been in a haze Bart’s entire life, was publicly executed on live television shortly after Tim had rescued him. 

He’d cried. 

Tim had held him and told him not to cry for his mother, not to cry for anyone. People here barely lived and died bloodily every day and if Bart was going to break down everytime that happened, it would be better for Tim to just put a bullet in him now and save all the food he’d waste keeping the speedster alive than to let him die or, worse, get captured, because he couldn’t cope with reality. His tone hadn’t been harsh, just matter-of-fact, and he’d stroked Bart’s hair. 

“You can weep this once,” Tim had muttered, “because you are mourning yourself for being born into a world gone mad. But never again, Bart.”

Tim’s words were reinforced by piles of corpses. The first were Melanie and Omari, who’d revolved around each other. They had always been close to each other, separated only during missions and Bart could still remember the looks they shot at each other, these soft hazy things. They’d been kind, slipping Bart treats, telling him wild stories from old movies and playing all sorts of games with him that didn’t involve killing. Bart had really liked them. They’d been nicer than Tim. Bart hadn’t understood that they’d been weaker than him as well. 

Melanie had been shot and while the wound itself hadn’t been fatal, a rotting infection and lack of supplies had killed her. Bart could still remember the smell as Melanie’s chest had fluttered and the sound of Omari’s bitter wails.

The next mission Omari had charged instead of retreating, dying in a blast of fire and taking several other members of the rebellion with him. Tim had nearly died and none of the people they’d tried to save escaped.

And Bart had understood. His eyes stayed dry as members of the rebellions whispered prayers into the night sky for all those lost. Tim didn’t bother with the ritual so Bart didn’t either. The dead were dead and therefore no longer pieces on the board. Tim taught Bart not to cry over a pawn. The game was more important.

But now everyone, including Tim, was all misty eyed over Kaldur. And maybe La’gaan? Bart wasn’t sure. La’gaan was a dick and Bart certainly wasn’t going to miss him, but Kaldur had been a decent guy. It was so mode that he was dead, but they were soldiers. Dying was just part of the gig and the Team knew that, so why were they being so weird?

Crying wasn’t going to bring Kaldur back. Bart had expected a Tim-level plan of revenge, something brilliant and devastating that would leave Luthor in ashes, but instead Tim’s focus was centered on the dead. He could probably find a way to save Kaldur and La’gaan but that didn’t prevent anyone from attacking them in the future. It was a strange use of resources. 

Not that Bart wasn’t going to help. He’d travelled to the past for Tim, giving up everything because Tim had a Plan. He’d follow the other boy to hell and back no matter how absurd the plan looked from the outside. Tim was the smartest person Bart had ever met. 

He just didn’t understand why Tim was being so emotional about this. 

X-x-x-x-x-

Dick was staring at the ceiling. He could feel Jay’s fingers interlinked with his and hear the soft snores, but sleep was far off for Dick. All he could think of was the gasp Kaldur had let out when he’d been stabbed.   
  
Had that been real? An illusion? Had Kaldur died differently?

Did it matter?

Dick has asked Bruce to show him the footage from that night. Bruce had denied him and Dick hadn’t spoken since. He was certain if he opened his mouth to speak all that would come out would be incomprehensible screams. 

They’d just gotten Kaldur _back._ Hours earlier they’d been celebrating that and now he was gone again and this time there would be no reunion, no chance to make up for lost time. 

He’d been dosed with Fear Gas and then slaughtered. The others the Team had lost had at least had the dignity to go down with a fight. Even Jay had struggled until the very end. Kaldur had just sparred with the shadows of his own mind until someone had lazily cut his life short, like a child squashing a bug. He hadn’t stood a chance and the only reason Dick wasn’t dead was because of the sheer arrogance of his enemies. Sportsmaster had toyed with him, watching as his brain betrayed him before moving in for the kill. The same as he’d done to Kaldur, the same as Deathstroke had done to La’gaan. 

If the League hadn’t come they all would have died like that. 

It was horrific and cruel.

People called Dick a hero. He wasn’t. He was a vigilante and he’d started his career as such on a quest for revenge for his parents’ murder. Revenge had turned into justice and Zucco had gone to jail, but Robin had still been birthed from the thirst for blood. 

He couldn’t give Kaldur justice. He could catch Sportsmaster, throw him in Blackgate, but the real mastermind behind this was Lex Luthor. Luthor, who always got away. The League, both as a whole and as individual members, had been trying to pin something, to pin anything, on Luthor for as long as Superman had been active. The closest had been Tim’s scheme but Luthor had bought his way out of that. 

He needed to be stopped for good. 

Dick tightened his fingers and shook Jay’s hand. “Wake up.” His voice was gravely with disuse. “Jay, get up.”

Jay bolted upright, his head twisting around for any sign of danger. He didn’t relax but he did turn towards his brother. “Dick?” he asked tentatively, as though he thought he dreamed Dick’s voice. 

“I need to go see Tim,” Dick rasped. 

Jay took his free hand and rubbed it up and down Dick’s arm. “He’s fine,” Jay soothed. “It’s just cuts, remember?” There was an undercurrent of real fear even now that Dick’s memory wouldn’t hold. 

“I know.” Dick’s throat felt like it was scraped. “I need to see him.”

Jay frowned. “Can you even stand?”

_“I_ _need to see him.”_

Something in Jay’s eyes shifted as he gave in. “I’ll grab the wheelchair from the Cave.”

Jay exited the room, leaving Dick to his silence. It was still wounded but had shifted from an animal licking its cuts to a snarling beast ready to lash out the creature that had encroached on his territory. His mind stirred with the things he wanted to do to Luthor, ranging from making the man watch as Dick burnt every last dollar of his precious money to punching the man in the face until all his teeth fell out. 

“Alfred didn’t spot me,” Jay commented as he dragged the chair into Dick’s room. 

It took some maneuvering to get Dick into the chair but he didn’t throw up on anybody, nor did he faint. Victory all around. 

Jay looked both ways before pushing Dick out into the hall. Tim’s room wasn’t super far as Bruce liked to keep all his kids close, but when trying to sneak past Bruce and Alfred the distance could have been miles. They made it to Tim’s door without spotting either of them and Dick felt himself relax as Jay opened Tim’s door, pulling Dick into the room. 

Where they bumped into Bruce. 

Bruce brought his hands up, framing his nose and mouth with his hands as he let out a deep exhale. “Alfred doesn’t know you’re here.” 

“He couldn’t have stopped me anyway,” Dick grated out. Delayed, maybe. But stopped? No way. 

Bruce tossed up his hands. “I don’t know about this. As far as I am concerned Jay did not sneak his deeply concussed brother out of his room. Everyone is in their room doing exactly as they are told. Just-” Bruce sighed again and marched out of the room. The door didn’t slam behind him but the noise it made was certainly sharper than usual. 

Jay and Dick shrugged at each other before Dick was pushed into Tim’s room. 

“Dick!” Tim called out in naked relief. He was rough to look at, his face a patchwork of bruises, and Dick couldn’t even see the mess that Bane had made of his back. But there was a light in his eyes that showed that the important parts of Tim were still intact. 

“You’re okay?” Dick asked, just to be sure. Not that he trusted Tim to be honest with him. 

Tim gave him a gala smile. “I’ll heal.”

They all would. Into scarred and misshapen messes but healing would happen. Dick knew what would ease his along.

“What’s the plan?” Dick demanded. 

Tim’s eyebrows raised in real surprise though fake denial spilled from his lips. “What? Plan? There is no plan. I promised Bruce-”

“Bullshit!” Dick said with his abraded voice. The room stilled like a deer in a spotlight. Dick made it a habit not to swear. “I know you, Tim. You won’t let something like this go. I want in. _What’s the plan?_ ”

“Dude, he just said there is no plan,” Jay interjected. 

But Tim stared at Dick and Dick could feel himself being measured, could almost feel the way the scales rose and dipped beneath him. 

“How do you feel about time travel?”

“Oh my god,” Jay facepalmed. “Why are you like this?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long and no promises on the regular update. I made a TERRIBLE mistake and started to play FFVII the Remake and now my brain wants to write that, and this, and there is also a plague and my brain also kinda just wants to sleep and sleep brain is currently winning.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future comes from what is planted in the present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, soooooo, I'm still riding the final Fantasy VII train hard and its interfering with this story because I really want to write something for that the Remake is AMAZING and I just wanna gush about it. 
> 
> But it does mean that I'm having trouble scraping Expansion together. It is by no means abandoned, but expect major delays and possibly another work being published before I finish it.. maybe... life is hard. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Luthor swirled his scotch in consideration, trying to decide if the operation had been a success. By all accounts Deathstroke’s career was ended, leaving the world short one of the few competent assassins who could be trusted to actually fulfill his contract. It would take Lex time to find a suitable replacement and until then he would likely be forced to rely on one of Al Ghul’s people. 

Lex preferred people whose only loyalty was to the money. He tended to have the most. 

Yet at least two of the League’s junior heroes were dead, two more injured, though the degree of seriousness was unknown. The emotional damage inflicted was incalculable at the moment though it would probably become more apparent, and more useful, in the long term provided any of them chose to continue on their career path. 

There had also been no League response yet. Lex had expected Superman to fly up to his office window and give Lex a new variation on his droll speech about knowing it was Lex even if he couldn’t prove it. The game was so tired that Lex had grown bored with the hero’s vexations, but perhaps recent events would give it a bit more pep. Perhaps it was Batman who would visit. Sportsmaster had claimed that it was some of his brood who’d been injured. While the Dark Knight always left more property damage than Superman, his quiet menacing was a refreshing change. 

But maybe the rules had changed. It would be interesting to see if Superman finally gave up his pretense of being a do-gooder blessed with the ability to assist the ‘little guy’ and showed the world what he truly was: an alien, driving the stagnation of society while having a nature just as base. They would see through his charitable facade and lay eyes on the beast the Lex knew lurked beneath his skin. 

Maybe he’d finally stripped the heroes of their self righteous hypocrisy.

Lex took another sip. It had been awhile since he hadn’t known what the fallout of his actions would be. He was looking forward to where it was going.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Cass had asked Bruce what Dexter was. 

He’d told her that he didn’t know the breed. 

Cass had asked Bruce what Dexter _was_. 

Bruce told her he was a cat.

Cass had asked Bruce _what Dexter was._

Bruce told her he didn’t understand the question. 

Tim’s eyes had laughed when he’d lied. “He’s just your average stray.”

He was not. He’d made Cassandra _bleed._

The cuts weren’t as deep as they could have been; a warning more than anything, but he’d moved that fast was enough for Cass to know that Tim’s cat was not a cat. Even now, as she watched the blood trickled down her shin, Dexter’s spine was satisfied even as his tail twitched with intent, a promise to do it again if Cass tried to touch the doorknob one more time. 

But Cass had fought Lady Shiva. Had fought her and won. She was willing to put her skills against Tim’s Not Cat. 

She pulled off her sweater, the fleece dragging against her skin as it went over her head, leaving lightning in her hair. She stretched it out in her hand, holding it shoulder from shoulder to make it as wide as possible. Dexter watched her, knowledge in his paws, but Cass didn’t need to care if he knew what she was about to do. She only needed to succeed. 

She lunged. 

Dexter dodged to the right, but Cass could read him as easily as she could read another human. She’d already seen his speed, already knew where he’d be. The sweater wrapped over him and he hissed and spun, clawing franticallying and yowling his displeasure. If he wasn’t like Cass, if he had words, he would be swearing like Jason used to. She hadn’t really understood what each swear meant. Just that they were angry words. 

Dexter was angry. Indignant.

That was a Dami word. Tim said Dami was often indignant. It fit Dami. 

It fit Dexter. 

She twisted the sweater, reducing Dexter’s movement further and tucked him under her arm. Satisfied she would not be scratched again, she opened the door. No one was in Tim’s sitting room, but she could hear voices coming from his bedroom. She glided over, watching, always watching. 

Jay looked tired. Tired and scared and angry at being tired and scared. It was in his fingers, the way they twitched for a weapon. Cass could see the way he was staring at the past, running through ways he could have helped. He couldn’t have. Everyone knew he couldn’t have, including him. But still he looked back. 

Dick and Tim were looking forward. They were both lying on Tim’s bed, a lap desk over Tim’s legs covered in paper. As words flowed from his lips, big Tim words that Cass had no hope of following even if he’d been speaking slowly, Conner’s hands moved, sketching out designs on the paper. With every inch he moved the pen, his _sad sad sad_ gave way to hope. 

Bart occasionally shook his head and pointed to something wrong. Conner’s hope flickered as he rolled up a piece of paper and tossed it. Cass caught it on instinct. 

“Cass!” Tim said, wearing his liar’s smile. “It’s nice to see you.” From the sweater, Dexter yowled, and Tim’s face wrinkled into true displeasure. “What are you doing to Dexter?”

Cass slowly set the sweater on the floor, tugging an edge to roll Dexter out. He hissed and spat, lunging at Cass who danced out of the way. With a snarl he launched himself onto Tim’s bed, planting himself on Tim’s chest. The cat crouched and laid his ears back flat, ready to attack. 

Even if he wasn’t a cat, he was good for Tim. 

“Scratched,” Cass said, lifting her leg so Tim could see the blood that still trickled from the wound. 

Tim frowned at her. “He was guarding the door _so people didn’t barge into my room._ ”

Cass raised an eyebrow. Barging sounded like something Jason did. Cass snuck. Very sneaky. She also glanced at everyone else being here. Tim was doing. Planning. But not angry plans. Big plans. _Challenging plans_ . But ones to make people happy. Plans to make here _safe_ again. 

Cass nodded and pointed at herself. “Help.”

“Can you distract everyone else?” Tim asked.

“Yes.” Cass nodded for emphasis. Bruce and Alfred and Dami. Easy.

Jay snorted. “Really? You have no idea what we’re doing and you're going to put yourself between us and Bruce. Do you know how pissed he’s going to be when we get busted?”

“ _When_ ,” Tim said with unshakable confidence, “this works Bruce will never know. It’s going to be great.”

Cass shrugged. It didn’t matter if Bruce caught her or not. He wasn’t Batman. There wasn’t a single thing he could do to her that would be worse than what she knew she was capable of enduring, wasn’t anything he could try that wouldn’t be worth helping Tim. “Help,” she said again before letting out a frown. She pointed at Dexter. “Allies,” she said sternly. “Don’t scratch.” 

Dexter huffed but he loosened and Cass took it as agreement. 

Not a cat.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Clark sat in a hotel, holding the picture of Lois that he always kept in his wallet. She thought it was old fashioned of him but she’d always laughed as she said it. 

How had it come to this?

Clark could trace back the decisions that had been made and the results that they’d had, but he didn’t understand how it had ended up this way. 

He pulled his phone out and mustered his courage. The media would go into a frenzy if they saw the way his hands shook, if they knew how much of a coward Superman had been by putting this decision off. 

He punched in the number and waited, counting the rings until it was answered by a voice Clark needed to hear. 

“Ma?”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim wasn’t crying, which was great because Bart didn’t really know what he’d do with a weepy Tim. Alfred had scolded Dick for relocating himself into Tim’s room but he hadn’t made much of a point of making him leave, so they’d strategically maximized the amount of time they could spend together working this out. Cass was absolutely crash. Like, the crash-maestro. The God of the Crash. 

It had been _days_ since Bruce had come to their room. Alfred still swung by with food but other than the one scolding about Dick having moved and the order to at least stay in _Tim’s_ room then, the dude didn’t hang about to chit chat. He had no idea what she’d done to Dami but he also hadn’t appeared at the door rambling to be let in. Which was good because Bart was pretty sure that no one had told Jay, Dick, or Tim that Dami was crazy now. Jay might have known that he’d been acting a little wacky but Bart was positive he didn’t know insanity was sticking like burnt tar on a shoe. He was keeping his mouth shut, hoping that maybe Conner would let it slip. He was both dating Tim and invincible. No matter how anyone reacted he’d be fine. 

And him and Tim, being a thing. That was weird. No, that was fucking bizarre. Bart and Tim had shared a room since Tim had rescued him, and by a room Bart meant a small space stuffed with however many rebels would fit and Tim had never fucked anyone. Oh, there was plenty of sex and it was considered rude to comment on it, but Tim had never engaged. Just said it wasn’t up his alley. 

To be fair, dating had died out with the rest of the world. 

From what Bart had seen, between TV and M’gann, dating was a weird thing to begin with that seemed to involve everyone? M’gann and La’gaan were the couple but they made sure to remind everyone, just in case they forgot. And they had to trade gifts and there were all these gestures and they called each other weird names. It just looked so impractical. Bart wasn’t sure M’gann had even liked La’gaan. He’d asked her about kissing once because kissing La’gaan was probably slimy and tasted like fish. Not only had M’gann confirmed that but she’d launched into a bunch of reasons why he pissed her off, including something about not getting flowers? 

Just having sex and being done with it seemed like a simpler answer. 

And now Tim and Conner were secret dating? Bart hadn’t really had time to be hurt that they hadn’t told them because- hello- base invasion, but Jay threatening to kneecap him if Bart was homophobic had explained some things. Bart had needed to find the word in a dictionary and he’d just frowned at it for a few minutes because, even with a dictionary in hand, Bart lacked the words to describe the sheer absurdity of the concept. Like, people actually gave a shit about stuff like that? That was why everyone in the mountain freaked out? 

No wonder the Light had been able to win. The people in the past were all morons. 

So he didn’t get it, but he got that it was a thing so he didn’t bring up that Conner and Tim had lied to him. And they weren’t gross mushy or even acting all that different. Every once in a while Conner would grab Tim’s hand and they’d smile stupid at each other, but they only did it when they thought no one was looking. It wasn’t the theatre show that had been M’gann and La’gaan. 

And maybe it was the reason why Tim wasn’t crying? Because Tim looked like he should be crying. “I can’t solve that there will be a duplicate!” He grabbed a pen and threw it across the room. 

In the bed Dick patted Tim’s leg, "You'll figure it out." He was doing a better job sitting up than Tim. Alfred said it would still be a few days until the deep cuts healed. 

Tim shook his. “I won’t. I can’t. Look at the math.” He slapped the stack of papers. “It’s going to take me years to work out how to not split the timeline. I can’t even just send someone back in the hopes of overwriting it because then there would be two of one person running around and I don’t know how sustainable that even is. Like, they might both melt or something.”

Bart rolled his eyes. He’d warned Tim when he’d first brought up the idea. 

“Tim,” Conner said firmly, “you’ve already figured it out. You just have to do it again.”

  
  
Tim balled his hands and hunched over himself. “We don’t have time. The longer this takes the harder it is going to be to fix.”

“Dude,” Jay said, sounding as worn as an old boot, “maybe you should drop the time travel idea. Seriously, one day in the future you will look back on this moment and laugh.”

Tim sighed, but the gesture was cut off mid breath. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god!” Bart leaned forward as Tim started to vibrate as fast as Bart could. “Jay, you are a fucking genius.” 

“Um, thank you?” Jay replied, looking just as confused as Bart felt. 

Tim went to grab a pen, frowning when it wasn’t there. Bart blurred and grabbed the one Tim had tried to toss across the room. Instead of thanking Bart, Tim started writing out a rough list of everything they needed to save Kaldur. 

“Jay,” Tim held the paper to his brother, “I need you to put this in something that seals so the paper won’t get destroyed over time. Bart,” Tim scribbled something else down and handed it to the speedster. It was a set of coordinates. “Go there. Bury it. There is a big rock that… you can’t lift because speedster. Right. Conner, can you go with him? Bury this under the big rock. It’s grey with brown streaks. You cannot miss it and if you find anything under it, bring it back to the Manor. Unopened. _But make sure you still bury my letter._ ” 

“So, the plan is geocaching?” Jay asked with a skeptical eyebrow.

  
  
Bart didn’t wait for Tim’s response. This was a real plan, not a let’s-plan-a-plan plan and Bart was willing to do whatever Tim needed, even if it was passing intel via boulders. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Bruce sat, his elbows resting on the Batcomputer as he studied what limited intel was available. He hadn’t known. _He hadn’t known._ Tim had just introduced her as Cassandra and Bruce had just assumed that he had been given enough information and respected her privacy. 

Cain.

  
  
Cassandra _Cain._

Daughter of _David Cain and Lady Shiva._

If she existed he needed to find her. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_This is fun!_

“It is not _fun_ ,” Dami grumbled and he shifted the dirt. The knife had shifted into something that approximated a trowel, “this is _work._ We are providing Pennyworth with much needed assistance so that the Manor will have a stable food source.” Judging the hole to be deep enough, he reached for the seed potato.

_Po-TA-to,_ _Po-Tah-to._

“What inane thing are you rambling on about now?” Dami muttered as he dropped the chunk into the hole. 

_It means even though it's said differently, it means the same thing. This is both fun and work. It’s fun work!_

The blade sounded entirely too pleased for itself considering that it was simply an object and Dami could feel a scowl twist deeper on his face. He mashed the dirt to cover his hole and made his way to where the next hole was needed. “It is a solemn duty,” Dami hissed, “to provide for the household. As Timothy and Grayson are incapacitated and Todd simply too inept, it falls to me, as the blood son, to secure food for the winter.”

_Grocery stores aren’t suddenly going to stop existing._

“I now understand why so many of your masters have tried to toss you into a fire.”

_Hey,_ the knife said with genuine hurt in it’s tone, _that was really mean._

Dami felt a flutter of something in his chest that he refused to name guilt. He would not apologize to a talking sword for finding it annoying. Why had he not purchased a blade with a true curse, such as it absorbed parts of his soul for every drop of blood it drew or unsheathing it brought about a murderous frenzy? Instead he’d gotten a blade that spoke like a child. 

“Good.” Dami startled, drawing the trowel and whirling to protect himself. Cassandra stood there calmly, ignoring the threat he posed, while studying his work. “Alfred be pleased.” She gave him a tiny smile and Dami felt himself puff. 

“My work is superior,” he said, satisfied. “You were wise to recruit me, though when I am finished I will resume my patrol.”   
  
“My patrol,” Cass corrected, her voice steel wrapped in leather. She handed Dami a small netted bag. “Garlic.”

Ah, garlic. How remiss of him. Due to Timothy’s weakened immune system an increase of garlic consumption should have a visible impact upon his health. “Very well, I will handle the long term aspects of Timothy’s health,” and being outside did provide him with a better visual were enemies to set upon the Manor. If he fell in combat, Cassandra would make a worthy last line of defense. 

_Yay! Planting!_

X-x-x-x-

Clark stood, head bowed, on the porch of his childhood home and for the first time in his life he wasn’t sure of his welcome. The warmth of Ma’s voice had drained away into something flat when she’d realized it was him on the phone. Clark felt like he was being punched out of the sky again for the first time, not knowing how badly the impact was going to hurt. 

He could hear his parents chatting tersely at the table over bland topics. They would do that when Clark was a child and not old enough to understand that just because Ma and Pa were at odds didn’t mean the world was ending. It had taken Clark years to learn that when Ma and Pa started comparing broom styles as though they were as interesting as how the Hubbard’s fruit trees were coming along it was best for him to make himself scarce. 

But hiding in the barn wasn’t going to make this better. 

But Clark didn’t know if he needed to knock. His parents were sitting inside at the table Clark had eaten breakfast at everyday before school and Clark didn’t know if he needed to knock. 

Ma sighed and hollered across the house. “Clark, the porch steps still creak. Come on inside now.” Hesitantly, Clark opened the door, hanging his coat in the closet. “We’re in the kitchen!” Ma called and Clark slunk his way down the hall, bracing himself for the worst. 

It was a strange contrast, the sunny kitchen and his parents’ grim expressions. How warm the walls were highlighted the pursed lips and shadowed crows feet. It felt surreal, like a waking nightmare where everything was all twisted out of shape. Even the glass that had been set out for him lent itself to that sense of unreality.

Had Conner sat in this chair? Drank from this glass?  
  
Clark sat down without a word. 

Silence hung like an anvil in the Kent kitchen. 

“Boy,” Pa was the first to break it and his voice cracked like a whip, “what the _hell_ has gotten into you?” 

That was the first time Clark had ever heard Pa swear. 

“Jonathan,” Ma scolded lightly. 

“Don’t “Jonathan” me, Martha,” Pa snapped. “I intend to find out where we went wrong with this boy. We didn’t raise a bully.”

“This isn’t how we agreed to handle it,” Ma said. 

“You can’t sit there and tell me that this don’t upset you,” Pa said, his voice full of steam. 

“Of course I’m upset,” Ma said calmly. “But we agreed that we were going to be calm about this and if you can’t be calm there is always work to be done around the yard.” There was steel in her tone. Everyone in Smallville always said that Pa was a man you wanted at your back in times of trouble, that he was as stubborn as a mule and as tough as nails. 

He had nothing on Ma. 

Pa looked at Clark and then back at Ma. “Tractor’s engine is making a sound. I’ll go sort that out,” he said gruffly, his movements too sharp as he pushed away from the table.   
  
He slammed the door as he left the house. 

Ma waited a few seconds and Clark squared his shoulders. This was Tim’s fault. 

“None of that now,” Ma said with a raised eyebrow.

“Ma?” Clark asked.

She let out a little snort, leaning back in her chair. “You look like a rooster with your feathers all fluffed up. I haven’t seen you so worked up since that time you had to help with harvest instead of going over to Lana’s party.”

Clark didn’t know what to say so he grabbed his lemonade and took a sip. 

“Now, I _am_ upset,” Ma said calmly. “I think you’ve done wrong to a lot of people and I want to know why.”

“Conner had no right to come here,” Clark said and he lifted his chin. 

Ma was not impressed. “You’re going to need to explain that one to me.”

“ _He’s not my son!_ ” Clark closed his eyes and counted to five, aware that he had just raised his voice at _Ma._ “He’s not my son. He’s Lex’s and he has no place in my life.”

Ma snorted. “There ain’t an inch of that boy that belongs to Lex." 

“And he’s in your life, Clark. You can’t deny that. If he hasn’t been doing the whole superhero thing I’ll give Stacey McNally my pie crust recipe.” Clark could feel the tips of his ears turn red. “You have a relationship with him,” Ma statedly firmly. “It ain’t a good one but it exists. 

“If you’d wanted to give him up, I’d have stood by you,” Ma said, surprising Clark. It must have shown on his face and Ma gave a dry smile. “I’d be a hypocrite if I was against adoption. Some people have kids they ain’t ready for and some people are awaiting for a child that hasn’t come into their life. But,” the word was sharp, “I’d still have expected you to have told us that you’d given up our grandson to a _loving_ home.

“You didn’t.” Ma shot Clark a look that dripped in disappointment. “You let that boy grow up alone in a cave, waiting for you to look at him. And then you go around judging his life choices. He and that Wayne boy are awful cute.”

“That Wayne boy,” Clark’s voice was sharp, “is a budding supervillain.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Ma argued. 

Clark shook his head. “He’s a menace. He planned this, he planned all of this. He didn’t come out here with Conner to meet you; he came out here so the next time you, Pa, and I spoke we’d have a fight. He did the same thing to me and Lois. He’s going to grow up to be the next Luthor.”

“So?”

Clark blinked at his mother. “What do you mean by ‘so’?”

“I mean,” Ma leaned forward, “when has someone’s potential for bad ever mattered to you Clark.?”

“He’s going down a dark path and he’s taking Conner with him. Imagine Luthor with me at his side!” 

Ma _rolled her eyes_ at him. “That isn’t what I asked, Clark. Superman’s always been about giving speeches on how we all have it in our hearts to do better. Why are you in such a twist over these two?”

“I told you what I told the League while holding the Lasso of Truth.” Clark learned forward earnestly. “Tim is violent, Ma. He’s hurt a lot of people, even killed people. He’s smart and manipulative-”

“-and he’s a boy,” Martha cut him off. “A boy you hurt and a Wayne to boot. Of course he’s going to lash out. You told Diana that you could beat Bruce in a fight and he dyed you orange, so you can stuff what you told the League. I don’t want you to tell me the truth, Clark.   
  
“I want you to be honest with me.”

Clark looked away, heat pricking at his eyes. “I think he’s right,” Clark muttered.

“You think who’s right, sweetie?”

Clark slumped back into his chair and swallowed. “Luthor,” the confession felt like draining a wound. It burned and smelled and after the first cut everything else came out so much easier. “People aren’t good, Ma. They’re violent and cruel and I keep having to save them again and again while nothing gets better.   
  
“I can’t just stop Luthor,” Clark admitted. “He’s too sly. So people keep dying and it’s my fault because it would be so easy to kill that man, to kill all of them. I could have crushed them like insects,” Clark’s hands squeezed into fists as he imagined Luthor’s neck cracking in his grip. “If I had, if I’d started acting instead of reacting, Lois and I would have a baby. You’d have a grandson.” A tear escaped the side of his face. 

“But killing Luthor would only be the first step. I’d have to put a stop to all of it. No more Luthor, no more Intergang, or Metallo. Just no more.

“And I know I shouldn’t. You and Pa taught me better than that.” Clark could feel his tears rolling openly down his face. “But I _want_ to. And watching Tim and Conner, it's watching what I could be. Tim has just caused so much harm but he’s always gotten what he needs out of it and,” he took in a deep breath,“I hate that.” He was pouring out his worst parts with every word. “I hate him so much, Ma. I hate the idea that he and Conner might do what I can’t, and that I will have to try and stop them. 

“Or that I might join them.” Ma reached out and grabbed Clark’s hand. 

“And Conner?” Ma prodded. 

Clark dropped his gaze onto the table. “I just didn’t know what to do. Everyone kept trying to thrust him into my life and no one respected that I don’t _want him in it_. Every time I turned around, someone was there with Conner, telling me to handle him.” Bruce had come to the Daily Planet to order Clark to teach Conner about his powers, as though he was the only person in the League with super strength, as though Diana or even Billy couldn’t handle that simple task. “He’s not my son, Ma. He’s a reminder that Lex will stop at nothing to get what he wants, that he’s an unscrupulous monster and the world would be better with him gone. 

“I don’t want Conner. I don’t love him. And everyone keeps ignoring that. Ma, I just... can’t”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ve been in the city too long,” she said quietly. “You’re gonna come home and stay at the farm a few months, until you get your head on straight.”

“But Metropolis-”

“Did fine before you showed up,” Ma said archly. “Plus you’ve got your friends from the League. They can take turns babysitting. I’ll tell Bruce to pass the word along when I call him.”  
  
“What?” Clark rubbed at his face. “You’re calling Bruce?”

“Darn tootin I am,” Ma said firmly. “I gotta let him know you’re grounded and can’t come out to play.”  
  
Despite himself, Clark gave a watery laugh. 

“Ma,” he said, the word trailing off into oblivion. 

She stood up and gave his forehead a kiss, before wrapping him into a hug, pressing his head into her chest. “I’m your mother, Clark. I love you and I forgive you. You’ll need to make amends with everyone else, but I forgive you.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Finally, the reason for ALL the Superman BS. Him taking all his moral inadequacies out on other people like he does whenever he turns bad for whatever reason in other canon explorations, which I've previously listed. So there, answers as to why he was such an ass this entire fic.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people are right and wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Works been busy and I had a bit of a mental episode. No promises on how frequently this is gonna update. I will work on it when I have time/energy (work schedule sucks right now cause COVID) but I will be working on it. Take care and be safe!

Dick had cajoled Jay into snuggling between him and Tim with puppy dog eyes and soft frowns, though given how quickly Jay had capitulated Tim was certain that Jay had been itching to be asked. The brothers had both fallen asleep quickly and Tim had gingerly slipped out of bed, silent so as not to wake the pair.

Once he was out of the room he gave his back a test stretch, wincing while mapping out every injury. He was under strict orders to stay in bed for a few more days but Tim had patrolled with worse. He’d gone up against Jason with worse. A few cuts couldn’t stop him from a task as simple as showering, though waking up Jay and Dick might, which was why he grabbed a change of clothes and slunk down the hallway to find one of the many showers that was not a part of a bedroom suite. 

The guest shower wasn’t as nice as the one attached to his rooms. It only had two heads and it lacked the heated floor, but Tim had definitely made do with worse. The showers at the League of Assassins’ base had just been buckets of water in a communal space.

The scorching water sluiced down, his tense muscles relaxing even as the soap stung the cuts across his back. The steam eased his breathing as he choked on his own sobs. Kaldur and La’gaan were dead and maybe,  _ maybe, _ Tim had the chance to fix that. He’d risked more on slimmer odds but there was so much damage that Tim  _ couldn’t _ undo.

What he’d done to Bart. The speedster was more affected by everyone else’s grief than he was by the deaths despite having lived with Kaldur in the Mountain. Tim had listened to Bart chatter about having fun with Kaldur often enough to know that they’d been close enough to be defined as friends. For him to be utterly unaffected by his death…. Tim could try to blame Future Tim for that, but the memory of Tam’s burning palm against his cheek, her furious tears and damning accusations of him being cold, didn’t allow him the luxury of denial. He had been on that path under Other Bruce. Had events here shifted him? Could he lie to Conner that Bart was dead if it meant catching Luthor? The way he'd lied to Tam? Tim didn’t think so. 

He hoped not. 

And Dick. 

God, Dick. 

Dick was  _ shattered. _

Tim hadn’t realized how badly when Dick had come through his door, eyes burning darkly and desperately demanding a plan of action. He’d been so bright that Tim had though that Dick was blazing with life and fury. Instead Dick had flickered into a muted silence. There were touches and flits of eye contact, but drawing words out of Dick was like pulling a dagger out of a wound. It could be done but Tim had nothing to stop the bleeding, so it was better to leave the wound stuffed with the weapon until it could be stitched. 

Tim didn’t know how far back he’d have to go to fix that because it was more than Kaldur’s death that had brought Dick here. More things that were Tim’s fault. If he hadn’t gone for his stupid revenge on Superman then Dick wouldn’t have had his opinion of the man pulverized, like shards of glass ground into dust that caused him to choke and bleed with every breath in. And it had been a stupid revenge. Tim had been lashing out because he was mad at himself for getting caught. He’d been so fucking stupid.

And he’d gotten everyone killed. If everyone hadn’t been focused on Tim they would have noticed the scheming, the way LexCorp resources were being shuffled about and how Scarecrow had escaped Arkham yet again. Bruce would have followed the money; he would have figured it out, but instead he’d been trying to hold his fag of a son together as Tim fell apart at the seems. 

At least the whole M’gann mess wasn’t one he’d made. 

The mud race. That would be how far back he’d have to go. He’d just nix any PDAs that day and everything would be fine. But how long could he keep him and Conner underwraps? How long before they got caught and the situation repeated itself, leaving a trail of corpses like a superhero adaptation of Romeo and Juliet? Maybe he should go back further. 

Maybe him and Conner just...shouldn’t have ever been a thing. 

Maybe that’s what caused everything to go wrong. 

Maybe Tim was destined to break everything he touched.

Tim pressed his head against the tiles, letting his tears swirl down the drain. His plan  _ had  _ to work. It had to. He kept promising everyone it would be but Tim had always been a great liar. It wasn’t just the math that was wrong. They’d need to construct a device and they’d have to find a place to hide it and they’d need a power source and there were probably a lot of things Tim wasn’t considering because he’d never invented time travel. Those who had were versions of himself he hoped never to be. 

If he invented it would he become them?   
  


Tim closed his eyes and thought of Dick’s silence. It was worth the risk. 

When he finally felt wrung out, Tim stepped out of the shower and quickly towel dried himself, the fabric far softer than a fuckup like him deserved. He carefully slipped into a t-shirt and some loose sweats, mindful that he’d weakened the skin around his stitches. He had to be careful not to tear. The shower had been a selfish act and he’d be furious with himself if he had to ask Jay to redo them.

He wouldn’t be able to bear any more of Alfred’s disappointment if the man found out.    
  
With a heavy sigh, Tim scrubs the towel against his hair and twisted the knob, stepping out into the chillier hallway. 

“Master Tim,” and there was Alfred’s disapproval settling heavily upon Tim’s shoulders. It was Tim’s rotten luck that, in a multi-story mansion, Alfred just happened to be passing by here. “It is much too soon for you to be up and wandering about.” Beside the butler, Dami echoed the man’s displeased stare. 

Tim hunched his shoulders and turned to Alfred, head hung in shame. He’d expected the hollow pit in his stomach, but not the knot in his throat. He bit his lip, shifting on his feet before goosebumps raced along his skin as it clicked. 

Tim’s dirty little secret. 

Conner was not only currently living with them, but he’d also been spending nearly every waking moment sequestered in Tim’s room. While Tim was far too injured to get up to anything...strenuous, not to mention he had zero interest in sexual hijinx, it still likely didn’t meet Alfred’s level of discreteness. He’d promised Alfred he’d do better. 

For the sake of the family. 

If Tim went back, he could avoid disappointing Alfred. He wouldn’t shake the man’s faith in Tim’s priorities and Tim could keep dating girls and the family would be safe because no one would ever know and everything would be-

“-aster Tim!” A gentle hand gave his shoulder the lightest of shakes, but it was still enough to trigger a cascade of twinges. “Master Tim, are you with me?”

“Timothy!” Dami poked Tim hard in the thigh. “Five things you can see!” he echoed Bruce. “Right now.”

Tim blinked down, taking in the scowling boy. “I can see you’ve been playing in the mud.”

Dami’s eyes flew open wide with an offended gasp. He gave an indigent huff. “ _ I, _ ” Dami drew out the letter as though it were a loose thread, “have been aiding Pennyworth in securing our food supply.” He turned his nose in the air. “It was a worthy and noble task.”

Despite the dread that had settled between Tim’s shoulder’s blade, his lip quirked at Dami’s earnestness. Damian would never have even considered helping with the garden. He would have dismissed it as servants' work. 

“You did not help,” Dami hissed and Tim flinched back. 

“I’m sorry?” Tim felt taken aback at Dami’s vehemence and even more so by Alfred’s sad sigh. 

Dami did not react to Tim’s apology. “You were a distraction at best and delayed my productivity. I would have finished faster were it not for you.”

Tim bent over as far as he could without shredding his back. “Dami,” he asked slowly, carefully, as though he was speaking to a house of cards, “who are you talking to?”

Dami blinked at Tim. “What do you mean?”

Tim’s heart stopped and his eye flicked to Alfred. The man looked utterly heartbroken, but he gave Tim a slight shake of his head. Instead he grabbed Tim’s elbow and eased him back into a standing position, giving Tim’s arm a soft squeeze. 

It matched his tone as he spoke to Dami. “Master Dami, the sooner you freshen up the sooner we can sit down to tea and biscuits.”

Dami studied Tim for a moment before turning to the butler. “Timothy will be joining us,” Dami ordered imperiously, not looking for Alfred’s agreement. “Do not be absurd. I am not sharing my tea with you.” He stepped into the bathroom that Tim had just been and shut the door. 

Tim heard the tumblers click as the door locked. 

“Alfred, what-”   
  


Alfred cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. He used the grip on Tim’s elbow to pull him down the hall towards the sunroom. Tim didn’t protest, Alfred’s touch the only thing grounding him from the numb horror that consumed his mind as he realized exactly what was wrong with Dami. 

There was only one possible explanation. 

Alfred helped Tim into the softest chairs before claiming the one directly across from Tim for himself. Then he slumped. Tim had never seen the man so… undone. It was like catching Alfred wandering around while indecent and Tim was grimly fascinated. For the first time in Tim’s life, Alfred looked old. 

Tim didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to know. He asked anyway. “Will he recover?”

“Perhaps,” Alfred sounded haggard and Tim could hear the ‘ _ though unlikely _ ’ that was unsaid. “The Fear Gas has already left his system.” Tim closed his eyes. Alfred’s next words landed like a hammer’s blow. “Your father suspects his brain has been physically altered.”

“Oh. I-” am sorry that I ruined Bruce’s son’s brain? Tim couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t know how to process something like that. Dami was just a child. How could Tim have done this to him?

No. Tim was going to fix this. He was going to fix it or die trying. 

Alfred squared his shoulders and pulled himself back into the prim man that Tim recognized, making the overwhelmed Alfred disappear. It was like watching an unnerving magic trick, vanishing an old coin to replace it for something new. “In other matters,” Tim braced himself, ready for the recriminations, “I owe you an apology.”

What? 

“What?”

_ Why? _

“I have done wrong by you, Master Tim,” Alfred’s words were proclaimed as though they were immutable. “You are who you are and it was shameful of me to attempt to censor you in order to uphold old fashion and, quite frankly, harmful ideas. Mister Conner has always been held in Master Dick’s highest esteem and he obviously makes you happy. 

“You deserve happiness, Master Tim and I am oh so sorry that I attempted to stand between you and it.”

Tim didn’t understand. “But the family-”

“Will support you,” Alfred said solemnly, “and will endure the few weeks that this may capture the public’s eye until some other scandal rocks the city. Likely Mr. Vanderkolk’s fourth divorce, if the rumors hold any merit.” Alfred leaned forward and he wore the same expression he did when ordering Batman to come back safely. “Do what makes you happy, Master Tim. I will have your back.

“Family is too precious to waste on frivolous bigotry.”

Tim pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes. He tried to take calming breaths but he could feel his nose plugging as moisture slipped past his hands. His only response to Alfred was a strangled choke.    
  
Tim leaned forward to try to muffle the sound. 

He startled slightly when Alfred’s hands grazed his shoulders, the grip tightening when Tim didn’t pull away. “It’s okay, dear boy,” Alfred promised. “We love you and you are safe here. It’s okay.”

“Pennyworth!” Dami barked. “What have you done to Timothy?” he screeched.

Tim rubbed his eyes, trying to dry them as best he could while Alfred stepped away in an attempt to pacify the irate child. “I’m okay, Dami.”

“You’re crying,” the boy hissed. 

Tim gave a wobbly smile. “These are good tears.”

Dami gave both Tim and Alfred a wary look. “I am not hugging him,” Dami muttered. There was a long pause, far too long, and Dami snorted. “I am not making him stand to receive my affection because he is injured, you imbecile.” Tim had to swallow so he didn’t start to weep again. “I am not making up  _ excuses _ .” 

“Master Dami,” Alfred gently interrupted Dami’s fight with no one. “Which type of tea would you prefer?” 

“A cup of  Tieguanyin, if you would,” Dami said, almost dismissively. His attention seemed focused solely on Tim. “How are your wounds? How is Grayson? Father has assured me of both your good health but he has not let me visit.” Dami wrinkled his nose in disgust. “He says that I could  _ interfere _ with your recovery.”    
  
A flash of emotions too intense for Tim to process, passed through him. He pressed it down, deep down, to deal with later.    
  
Or perhaps never. 

But yeah, he could see how letting their delusional brother visit could be ‘hard’ on their recovery. 

Deep breath. Time travel. Tim was going to fix this. He was going to fix everything. 

That thought was enough to help Tim dredge up a smile. “Well, we can visit now. Tell me what you helped Alfred plant.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp. He was in the Batcave, where he’d been since Cass had revealed her parentage. He let out a broken chuckle. Parentage that she’d let slip after he’d made Tim promise him no more wild schemes. 

A distraction. 

And an effective one at that. Real information that required acting upon. If Cain and Lady Shiva did have a child together, separating the child from their influence would be best for everyone. Cassandra was obsessive about keeping her legs covered and Bruce could only guess at what scars she was hiding. If she had a universal twin, rescuing them was a priority. 

But if Cass was attempting to distract him, that meant there was something to distract him from, and Cass’s true loyalties, for as much as she’d integrated into the family, would always lie with Tim. Tim, who’d looked Bruce in the eye while he’d lied about not being up to anything, while he promised that he’d turn to Bruce for help. On one hand, grief lodged itself in his chest. He was trying so hard with Tim. So goddamn hard. And Tim still spooked easily, like a wild bird watching for any excuse to take to the air and vanish. 

On the other hand Bruce was angry. Not furious. Not livid. 

Just...angry. 

He was trying. He was doing everything he could, everything those books said he was supposed to and Tim was doing things like picking fights with Superman and lying straight to Bruce’s face, like Bruce wouldn’t figure it out. Bruce was one of the world’s best detectives! But he’d fallen for it. Only for a moment, but look what had happened with Superman. A moment was more than enough time for something to go terribly wrong. 

Worse, he didn’t know what to do. Tim was both extremely resilient and terribly fragile. Bruce was not a psychologist and Dinah, who was looking after a traumatized Garfield, was not accessible to help Bruce tidy up the pieces if he caused Tim to shatter. 

And it wasn't just Tim who required his focus. Dami needed a specialist, sooner rather than later. The more neurons were used the stronger the connections became, so if someone could interrupt Dami’s delusions early enough perhaps they could be stopped once and for all. Possibly a chemical agent or physical stimulus. 

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Jason was rattled. He was pretending he wasn’t. He’d been pretending he was fine since Bruce had rescued him from Talia. Sure, he was going through the motions of recovery with Dinah but he wouldn’t talk to Bruce. Or Dick, apparently. He wouldn’t admit to the nightmares even though Alfred had caught him in the entertainment room watching British film adaptations of classic literature at three am. Apparently he was currently working his way through every version of the Scarlet Pimpernel ever produced. Or sleeping through. The movies seemed to mitigate the nightmares but the night of the attack Jay had experienced one that had him screaming. They still hadn’t talked about it. 

And Dick… Bruce’s liveliest child was still and silent. While the issue between Conner and Clark had always been there, Dick had held what Superman stood for in the highest esteem. He wasn’t a perfect person but he  _ was _ the perfect hero. A shining beacon of light whose existence pushed everyone to be better people. Dick couldn’t emulate that, he’d been shaped too firmly by Gotham, but he infused as much of Superman’s light as he could into the city. His vigilante identity was an ode to Clark’s heritage. Watching Superman fall from grace would have been hard on Dick. 

And then to lose two members of the Team? He didn’t even know about Dami yet.

Bruce let a small huff of air out of his nose, a pathetic version of a broken laugh. Batman, who had a million plans to handle every villain in the city didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help. 

His family was broken glass in his hands and he didn’t know how to piece it back together. 

He dropped his hands as he straightened. Feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to save anyone. Prioritize. What was the most urgent?

Dami, but Bruce Wayne had already started making inquiries with money behind them. For that there was only waiting. 

Tim next. Whatever revenge he had concocted would likely end up in Tim getting hurt, because Tim’s plans  _ always _ ended up in Tim getting hurt. 

Then Jay. A few kind words and some attention would do wonders to sooth his second eldest. An hour of Bruce’s day for the week would help. It wouldn’t fix everything. It probably wouldn’t fix anything, but it would help.

Dick’s journey was going to be long. That type of betrayal stung and grief over lost comrades never truly healed. Like Jay, it wasn’t an acute problem but one that would require his attention daily. 

As for Cass… Bruce was not without allies. He would have to ask the League to keep an eye out for Cass’s counterpart. He would investigate on his own when he could but right now his family needed him in a way they never had before. Bruce could do this. He could be strong. 

He just had to find a way to pry the truth from Tim. 

He stood and stretched, his muscles pulling with the movement. Too long in the chair. Too long in his own head. 

Tim wouldn’t give up the truth and Bruce obviously couldn’t tell when the boy was lying. Considering that Bruce’s presence was enough to trigger flashbacks, he wasn’t the best candidate for a heart to heart to tease out the truth, but none of his children were in any shape to take on their brother’s trauma.

None of his children. 

None of  _ his _ children. 

But Conner was here and Bruce would eat his cowl if Tim hadn’t told his boyfriend what was going on. 

There. That was a plan Batman could get behind. Find Conner Kent and interrogate him until he received actionable intel. A part of his mind whispered that Conner was grieving too but he pushed it away. He’d grieve more when his boyfriend got himself killed by being brilliantly reckless. 

First step. Locate Conner. 

Bruce leaned over the Batcomputer, his fingers dancing over the keyboard as he brought up the security cameras. He activated the security system and there, Conner’s face ID pinged in the boot room. He was removing crusty runners and a coat he wore for show. Bart was with him.

Bruce didn’t bother powering down the computer. It would lock itself soon enough and he had no desire to chase Conner around the manor or worse, awkwardly pull him from Tim’s room. 

He took the steps two at a time and emerged from the clock, carefully shutting it behind him. His guests were aware there was a Batcave and it was attached to the manor, but they weren’t Bats and thus did not get access. 

He ran down the halls at a pace that would have Alfred scolding him and  _ definitely _ did not have to use his carefully honed reflexes that were used for criminals and not catching expensive vases from hitting the floor, no sir Alfred. He cut through the family room, the informal one, and walked to the corner of the hallway. Taking a minute to smooth his pants and fix his hair, he listened for footsteps and stepped into view right when Conner would bump into him. 

The bump knocked Bruce back but no more than expected. It wasn’t enough to take him off his feet and that was all that mattered. It had also had the desired impact. 

Conner stumbled back as though Bruce had shoved him. “Sir!” Conner’s eyes were wide and he snapped into a soldier’s stance, his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry!”

“Oh crap,” muttered Bart, standing on his toes to see over Conner’s shoulders. 

Bruce slapped on a bland smile. “Sorry, Conner. I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Wayne,” Conner said, eyeing Bruce up like the apology was a trap and he expected the man to pull a weapon. Conner was half right. 

“Please, call me Bruce.” He flashed his teeth when he smiled. “It’s actually good luck that I ran into you. I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you. Bart, do you mind?”

“Yeah. I mean no?” Bart grabbed the back of his neck. “Uh, I mean it's crash if you wanna talk? I’ll just go-” and with a gust Bart was gone. 

Conner relaxed infinitesimally, his hands dropping to his side. “So, what did you want to talk about?” He was guarded, his eyes so intense that Bruce was certain Conner was looking at him in infrared. 

Bruce smiled congenially. “It’s a conversation best had in my office.” Conner stumbled a little. Good. It was easier to knock over an off balance opponent. “So how are you finding living in the manor?” Bruce kept his tone suspiciously light. 

“It’s fine.” Conner’s words were stiff and stilted. 

“Only fine?” Bruce raised his eyebrow. Conner flushed but he didn’t stammer out an apology or attempt to back track the way Bruce had expected. Then again, he was a founding member of the Team. “Ah, here we are.” Bruce pushed open the door of the office where he’d first met Conner as Bruce Wayne. “After you.” Conner took a few hesitant steps. Bruce closed the door behind them.

He locked it, 

It was a symbolic gesture. There wasn’t a person in the house who could be stopped by that lock, but Bruce found that there was a psychological benefit to locking a door that affected even the strongest of heroes. It was the thought that counted. It counted a great deal. 

“Sit,” Bruce ordered, his pleasant voice evaporating like water flicked into a hot pan. Conner dropped fast enough that Bruce thought he was going to destroy the guest chair. He didn’t which was actually rather unfortunate. 

Bruce walked around the desk, slowly and silently. He eased himself into his own chair as though he hadn’t a care in the world. It was probably cruel to use office tactics on a teenager, but it was far kinder than the methods Batman usually used though he doubted dangling Superboy off of a building would get much reaction. “So.” He made a fist and folded the other hand around it, setting both on the desk in front of him, “what is Tim planning?”

Conner scowled at Bruce. It struck him how much the boy had changed. Years ago that was his default expression and now it seemed almost odd for him to be wearing it. “I’m not telling you.”

Well. Bruce had expected a hasty denial. Conner was not the best at lying but he was loyal. And stubborn. And apparently quite gutsy. Bruce would have been impressed if he hadn’t known this was going to make his job harder. 

Bruce leaned forward. “You will,” he assured Conner, “because you want what’s best for Tim.”

The Kryptonian flashed his teeth. “Tim’s smart enough to take care of himself.” 

Bruce couldn’t help the skeptical look he shot Conner. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Conner shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s survived so far.”

Bruce heaved a sigh and used a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “With luck. Sheer, stupid, luck.” He set his hand back on the desk. 

“He figured out how to stop the Light,” Conner argued. 

“And was nearly murdered by Zatanna,” Bruce countered. 

“He got us home from the alternate universe.” Heat built in Conner’s tone. 

Bruce matched it with blandness. “He nearly died getting a cat.”

_ That _ caused Conner to deflate, his fists tightening. 

Bruce sighed. “I understand that Tim trusts you and I appreciate all you do for him, but Tim makes high risk decisions that consistently have consequences that endanger him. I need to know what he’s planning so I can keep him safe.”

Conner jutted out his chin. “Then ask him.”

“I did,” Bruce snapped, “and he lied to me. So now I’m asking you. My other option is to investigate.”

“So investigate.”

“Conner,” Bruce said, his voice expressionless, “I am first and foremost a detective. If I investigate I will find out. Save us both the trouble and tell me.”

Conner stared at him, frowning, but also thinking. The silence hung over them before Conner slumped. “Tim wants to invent time travel to fix what happened in the mountain.”

Bruce’s mouth did not drop open but it came embarrassingly close. “He wants to invent time travel,” he echoed flatly. Of course he did. Why settle for revenge when you can reset reality? 

Conner shrugged. “Yeah, but the math’s not going anywhere.”

That was good. That was very good. “Do you think he’ll be able to do it?”

“The math doesn’t work,” Conner snapped. He slumped even farther. “I think this is his way of- he’s just... grieving.”

“Right.” Right. That made sense. He’d never seen Tim mourn. It was hardly surprising that he’d attempt to fix it and with time travel, no less. Tim was smart. He was scary smart.

But it had taken him forty years to invent time travel the first time. Bruce didn’t have anything to worry about. “If you feel that Tim’s newest venture becomes a danger, or, more importantly, successful,” it wouldn’t, but Bruce would feel remiss if he didn’t cover all his bases anyway, “you will stop him and report it to me. ”

Conner nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Thank you, Conner,” Bruce nodded. “You should go find Tim. He likely misses you.” Conner strode out of the room with the confidence of someone who had survived an interrogation with Batman. 

Time travel. Really Tim? 

Well, at least it was something that wouldn’t lead anywhere. 

Outside the door, Conner let out a deep breath. Tim was right. Lying to Batman was a rush. 

  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are starting to come together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Read:
> 
> I get that not everyone likes this fic. I don't expect everyone to like it. But I am providing a free service in my spare time, which I don't have a lot of. I have mentioned in previous ANs that I'm also bipolar. 
> 
> And it's the fucking apocalypse. 
> 
> So I would appreciate it if we could all be kind.
> 
> If you don't like the story, please don't list the faults you have with it. This is, as I said, a free service. You pay nothing for it. I am paid nothing for it. If you don't like it I respect your choice to stop reading, but it's really damaging my mental health, which is already pretty fragile given the state of the world, to hear a list of why this is bad. It's really hard to get ready to sit down, pump out another thousand words, only to have a review about how poorly I'm writing this one and how I'm disappointing everyone. 
> 
> So if you want to stop reading, please, just don't tell me.

Bart knew something was wrong the moment Batman said "call me Bruce." He'd heard those words drip from Tim's lips with just as much banality before Tim had viciously disemboweled a traitor. He'd worn the same bland smile as he washed the man's viscera from his skin. 

It reminded Bart of plants he'd heard about, little jugs that hung on trees. They just sat there with nothing more than a gaping mouth, waiting for its next prey to slide itself into the acid below. Boring and deadly, eating bugs and birds indiscriminately. 

It was absolutely terrifying.

He could freely admit that the relief of being dismissed from the conversation overshadowed the importance of the tube that Conner had hidden behind his back. Had he not forced it into Bart's hands the speeder would have likely bolted without it. Bart had always known Tim wouldn't hurt him because he knew exactly what not to do, but he didn't have that with Batman. He wasn't sure of the rules and while Batman normally seemed pretty safe, Bart didn't want to find out what that was about first hand. 

So he took the tube and ran. It was unassuming, metal and grey with a twist off cap. It wasn't until Conner had tried to open it that the device had gotten interesting, flashing where no obvious lights had been embedded while sending out a sharp shock into the Kryptonian's hand.

Bart vibrated through the wall to Tim's room, expecting to find the older boy on the bed amidst a flurry of paper and coffee, but the bed held only the lone sleeping figure of Dick. It was weird, seeing him curled around himself like a dying leaf. 

Honestly it was no wonder these people had lost against the Light. They were only down two members, neither mission critical, and they were all moping around like it was the end of the world. They'd probably offered themselves up for slaughter when everything had actually gone to hell. 

"Where the hell is he?!" The snarl was accompanied by a hand twisting itself into Bart's collar, dragging him towards the door. Situational awareness kicked in fast enough to prevent Bart from punching Jay at mach speed. Instead he allowed the larger teenager to pull Bart off of his feet, enduring the emphatic shake with equal measures of grace and exasperation.

"Batman cornered him but I'm pretty sure he'll be okay. Conner's tough." And Tim's favorite. And apparently Jay's? Weird that the dude was freaking out so hard, unless this was a love triangle? He hoped not. Tim had Opinions on love triangles and Bart would hate to have to fuck up Jay when he'd proven to be such a good ally in the past. He'd do it, no question. He'd just felt like it would be a bit of a waste. 

Jay shook him again. "Tim! Where is Tim?!"

With his free hand Bart began to let at Jay's fingers, pulling them off his collar. "We left him with  _ you _ ," Bart snapped back. "He probably went for a walk." Saying Tim didn't take well to being confined in bed was like saying getting struck by lightning stung a bit. 

Jay released Bart with a curse. "He's in no shape to be wandering around."

Bart gave a dismissive flick of his hand. "Dude is fine. He's tough. He knows his limits."

Jay scoffed. "You're a moron."

"I'm not the one who lost Tim."

It was easy to dodge the fist that came flying his way. It moved through the air like a fish through mud. Bart leaned back and watched as it slid past his face, yawning and scratching his nose as he waited. Jay stumbled forward, obviously having expected to hit something other than air, which was weird because Jay wasn't stupid and trying to punch a speedster in the face was a dumb idea.

"Fuck," Jay growled, rolling his shoulder. "You're an asshole."

Bart shrugged. "Sure, dude. But seriously, get crash. If you are that worried just go  _ find _ him." Jay's eyes flicked to Dick and Bart got it. Dick was down. Physically injured and emotionally compromised. He, unlike Kaldur, actually  _ was _ mission critical, so supervising him until he could defend himself was a wise strategy. Tim was physically injured but his mind had always been his greatest weapon.

As much as he would have made a different call, he could respect Jay's choice. 

"Here," he handed the tube over to Jay. "You hold this and I'll go find Tim." He zipped out of the room before zooming back in. "Don't try to open it. It will probably kill you." Maybe? Conner said it hurt and Kryptonians were usually a shitty measuring stick for how much damage something would cause. An imperial system to everyone else's metric. Or vice versa? Bart didn't know. The time machine had been built using metric. 

The past was stupid. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Tim nodded along as Dami outlined his plan to build a greenhouse behind the Manor so that the family could have a ‘secure and nutritious source of food readily available’, all the while observing Dami’s erratic behaviour. The boy would react as though there were a third speaker in the room, a voice that only he could hear but responded readily to. Most of Dami’s responses to the silent voice were snappish and terse, the way he acted when he felt like someone beneath his notice was wasting his time. But every once in a while Dami would fall into a smug look, straightening his spine and practically purring as though he’d been praised. 

Tim wasn’t a psychologist but he was pretty sure that things could have been worse. Not that they were great, but Dami’s voice currently seemed non-violent. Tim was only hearing half the conversation but he’d almost go as far to say that the voice was rather childish, not one that whispered nightmares in Dami’s ears. It was strange that Dami didn’t even notice that he was the only one who could hear it, but this wasn’t Tim’s arena. It was probably the boy’s mind protecting itself from its own insanity or something. 

Not that it mattered. Tim was going to  _ fix  _ this. 

“That’s enough for now, Master Dami,” Alfred interjected softly while Dami was taking a breath. “Master Tim still has much healing to do and should retire for the evening.” Now that Alfred mentioned it, Tim  _ was _ feeling kinda tired. 

Dami shot Alfred a poisonous frown that the old butler deflected with an aura of patience. “Perhaps you could aid Master Tim with Dexter’s care? The animal needs to be looked after and Master Tim is in no shape to be bending over a litter tray.”

Dami froze and Tim could almost trace the spark of excitement with his eyes. “Dexter will need to rely on me for his care,” the boy said with a breathless amazement that was actually fairly disturbing. “He will need to be brushed and engaged with stimulating toys!” Dami gave a wispy gasp. “I will find him at once!” Dami set his cup down gently enough it didn’t clink on it’s saucer before bolting out of the room without so much as a wave goodbye. 

For a moment, love and fondness cut through the cycle of grief and the manic need and Tim allowed a small, heartfelt smile to stumble across his lips. 

Alfred allowed Tim to bathe in the feeling before clearing his throat. “Now, Master Tim,” he asked with gravity, “where has the wheelchair been deposited? I am well aware that it is no longer in the Cave and I am an old man. It would be best for everyone to simply tell me where it has gone to, rather than hide that Master Dick has left his quarters.”

Busted. 

“It’s in my room,” Tim admitted. “By the window. You can’t miss it. But I can walk.”   
  
“And I can eat Master Bruce’s eggs, but there are some things better not done for the sake of one’s health,” Alfred said sagely. 

“Or I could carry him?” Conner shyly stepped into the room. “Sorry, I was listening for Tim and heard him here.” He gave Alfred a sheepish shrug. “But, if it’s okay with Tim, I could give him a literal lift.” 

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “And can I trust you, Master Conner, to ensure that Master Tim does indeed head straight back to bed and not off on an ill advised adventure?” Tim was a little offended on Conner’s behalf on how skeptical Alfred sounded. 

Conner squared his shoulders. “I promise I will take him straight back to the room and deposit him into the bed myself. If he tries to escape I will lay on him until he falls asleep.”   
  
“Conner!” Tim squawked, blushing with the undignified image painted by the Kryptonian. 

The room gusted and a flustered Bart appeared in the middle of the room. “Tim, dude. You weren’t in your room! Super mode, dude.” Bart blinked, taking in the rest of the room. “Oh, ah. Sorry Alfred. Language right? I mean, not hot? Super not hot.”

“It’s uncool,” Conner corrected, shooting Bart an anxious look. 

“Really? That’s crash!” Bart grinned goofily, ignoring Conner’s mounting anxiety. “Hey, we can take Tim from here. He wouldn’t have gotten this far if we’d been on watch. Our bad.”   
  
“Indeed,” Alfred said dryly. “I will entrust you to ensure that Master Tim ends up at the appropriate location, as I will trust Master Tim to not wander through the Manor until he is healed.”   
  
“Yes, Alfred,” echoed the boys. With a disapproving look, Conner gently scooped Tim up from the chair, holding him with his arm tucked under Tim’s ass and Tim’s legs partially wrapped around Conner’s torso, the way Bruce would hold Dami when the boy allowed it. Tim was grateful for his wounds, as he was fairly certain the only thing saving him from the indignity of a bridal carry right now was the strain it would put on his back. 

“Why are you even wandering around?” Conner grumbled as he made his way through the Manor. “You’re injured. You’re  _ human _ . Just let yourself heal!”

Tim huffed. “I just went for a shower. I didn’t want to wake Dick and Jay so I picked one near my room. Then I bumped into Alfred and  _ Dami. _ ” Tim felt Conner’s little stumble and it ignited a rage Tim didn't realize was lingering inside his veins. “Yeah,” he said, his tongue burning, “Dami said that you two have been hanging out with him. Having a grand old time.”

“Tim-” Conner tried to pacify but Tim cut him off. 

“When the hell were you going to tell me?” Tim’s voice echoed down the hall. “He’s sick, he’s seriously sick, and you were going to just what, sweep it under the rug?”

“What good would telling you have done?” Conner said with infuriating patience. “You’re going back in time to fix everything, so it’s not an issue.”

“I needed to know!” Tim snapped. 

“Bart, head back to the room,” Conner ordered coldly. “Tim and I will be there in a minute.” 

Bart tilted his head at Tim, seeking permission, and Tim gave a single dip of his chin before the speedster was off. 

Conner opened the closest door, a billiards room, and set Tim down on a chair so he could look him dead in the eye. “You didn’t need to know. You are stressed and you don’t need to be distracted.” 

“You!” Tim sneered, “don’t get to make that decision for me. You don’t get to keep that secret from me!”

Conner’s face set into a scowl. “Because you’ve never kept a secret in your life,” he scoffed.

Tim froze. His mouth was open. His eyes wet. 

Conner kneeled, his hands wrapping themselves around Tim’s. “I’m sorry,” the Kryptonian murmured, bringing Tim’s hands to his mouth and laying a kiss on his knuckles. “I’m sorry. I know it’s different. I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

Tim pulled his hands out of Conner’s, hesitating a moment before sliding his arms over Conner’s shoulders and curling them behind his neck. “I’m sorry,” he echoed his boyfriend. “I just… I need to know. When I don’t know people die and I just can’t have anymore people die. I can’t, Conner. So I need to know. I always need to know.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” Conner promised into his ear.

“Okay,” Tim said shakily.

“I’m going to kiss your neck now,” Conner whispered. 

“Okay,” Tim’s voice still trembled but he tilted his head and felt the warm brush of Conner’s lips underneath his ear. 

Conner was the first to pull away. “We should get to your room. Bart and I found a surprise when we dropped off your time capsule. I think I know what it is. Are you going to confirm it for me?”

Tim reached up his arms to make it easier for Conner to grab him. “Blueprints for a time machine.” Conner nodded, unsurprised, and Tim grinned in delight. 

Conner sighed. “I can’t believe this.”

Tim gave a wolfish grin. “I can. Because I’m a genius.”   
  


A sigh heaved itself out of Conner’s body. “Yes, Tim. You are a genius.”   
  
Tim preened. “And because I am a genius I know you are the world’s best boyfriend.” Tim’s heart stuttered as the small bubble of levity popped. To fix everything, he was going to have to let this go. He was going to have to sacrifice Conner’s love, the comfort he brought Tim, to save Kaldur and La’gaan. 

To save Dami. 

“You’re a dork.” Conner ruffled Tim’s hair and Tim leaned into the touch. He was going to absorb every moment. Conner wouldn’t remember that they dated but Tim would. He’d remember for both of them. That it had been good until everything had gone so wrong. 

They made their way back to the room in silence, though Tim was certain Conner’s was lighter than his. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dick woke up to the soft click of a door closing. He opened his eyes, squinting, but the low light of the room no longer felt like ice picks through his eyes. He let out a relieved groan. 

“Hey, Dick,” Jay was there. Dick could feel the warmth of his hands as Jay helped him adjust to a sitting position. “How you doing? Need me to get you anything? Water? Ibuprofen? Cereal?” his brother whispered. 

“I’m fine,” Dick spoke at a normal volume, relieved when his head didn’t spike. “I don’t need any pain killers right now. Where’s Tim?”

“Here!” Tim called from his sitting room, “and I have the blue prints.”   
  
Dick’s skin buzzed. “Help me up, Jay!” He grabbed at his brother, practically climbing his arm to get off the bed. Dick’s world gave a small roll, like a wave lifting a boat, before settling down. Confident he wasn’t going to faceplant, he followed Tim’s voice. 

Though everyone had already gathered, with Conner leaning against the wall and Cass settled on the couch. Tim was standing, looking as serious and professional as one can in a Star Wars shirt, and Bart was standing off near Conner, hopping from foot to foot. Jay begrudgingly helped Dick settle on the edge of the couch before taking the middle for himself. Dick accepted the help gratefully, watching as Tim stood in the centre of the room carrying what looked to be a lead pipe. 

“We all know why we’ve been gathered here,” Tim started, as though this was some kind of boardroom meeting, and under other circumstances would have made Dick snort. Today he could only muster up a thin smile. It would be pretty funny to watch Tim go toe to toe with some of the idiots Bruce had to work with, but it was probably for the best that something like that wouldn’t happen for a long time. Tim was way too young to be stuck at that kind of office job. He needed to finish school first. 

“Really?!” Jay asked, his eyes wide. “I have no idea! Why? Because none of you fuckers are telling me anythin- Ow!” Jay hissed as he rubbed his arm where Cass had slapped him. 

Tim sighed and stared at the ceiling. He was too far away but by the shape of Tim’s lips he muttered something about children. Judging by Conner’s smug smile it couldn’t have been overly flattering. Tim let out another heavy sigh and held the tube out in front of him. “Tech from the future, courtesy of Future Me. Has plans for time machine blueprints. There you go. You now know and have leached all the magic out of this moment. Are you happy, Jay?”

“Ecstatic,” Jay grumbled, still watching Cass with a suspicious eye. “How do you have that?”

“It’s like you said,” smugness radiated off of Tim like heat from coffee, “Future Me will look back, so as long as I figure this out in the future I can send current me instructions without destroying the timeline.”

“That’s absolutely stupid.” That revelation caused Jay to hunch like an irritated cat and Dick was torn between dredging up sympathy or chuckling at his brother’s expense.

Tim took several steps towards the couch and held the tube like a wand. Dick could pinpoint the exact moment when the adrenaline hit, when the dusty cobwebs of his mind blew apart and everything became real. They could do this. They could fix everything!    
  


They were going to save Kaldur. 

Tim hit a button and light burst from the tip of the tube. “Darnit!” Dick yelled, covering his face as light seared across vision. He blinked tears out of his eyes as they adjusted to the new light level in the room. 

He gasped. 

It turned out Tim didn’t need to have pointed the tube at the wall. From it’s tip projected a 3D blueprint. 

“Crash!” Bart exclaimed, immediately poking at the light. The spot where he touched broke apart into an explosion of smaller pieces. Experimentally, Bart pinched his fingers, touched a smaller component, and then flicked them apart. The size of the component morphed until it was as big as Tim’s face. “Neat! What else can it do?”

Tim gave half a shrug and shook the thing, which scattered all the components into their individual pieces. “Okay,” Jay grunted, “that’s pretty cool.” 

“Hey, Tim,” Conner pushed himself away from the wall. “Let me see something.” Silently, Tim held out the tube to Conner. The taller boy took it and, with his immensely powerful hands, gave the tube a delicate twist. There was a soft click that Dick was certain everyone heard, and the image flickered into something else. 

Gone was the design for a blueprint and in its place was an eerily familiar design. “What is that?” Dick murmured. He should know. If he wasn’t concussed he would know. 

“It’s a cloning chamber,” Tim said, his voice dripping in confusion. “Why would I need a cloning chamber?” He grabbed the tube out of Conner’s hands and shook it, studying the pieces of the design. “It’s a pretty limited one too. You couldn’t make a real clone out of this, one with a heartbeat or a brain. It would just be cells that were people shaped. Why would we need people shaped cells?” Tim flicked the design, causing it to spin. “It’s designed for accelerated growth too. I don’t get it.”

Something about those sentiments were off. Darn, Dick hated concussions. They always made him feel dumb. What was he missing? What was the problem? Oh. There. “Tim, why do you know so much about cloning?”

Everyone in the room froze and Dick wanted to scream. He was the oldest. He needed to be able to help and he was the only one kept in the dark. Why wouldn’t they let him help? What did everyone else know? 

How bad was it?   
  
“Tim,” he said very carefully, shaping the words like they were clay in his hands, “are you a clone?” He’d thought that the very first time he’d seen Tim. Bruce had said no, but they had only been wondering if he was a clone of Bruce. There were plenty of people on the planet. 

Tim shrugged. “No. Even if the tech had existed then, it would have been pretty expensive. Mom got a discount on a surrogate."

"A discount." Jay's voice was as flat as new asphalt while Dick struggled to find his own.

Bart raises a hand. "Question! What's a surrogate?"

"When couples can get a third person to carry the baby to term," Conner answered, crossing his arms. "It's often a financial transaction that occurs when the couple can't conceive."

Tim nodded along. "Yeah. Mother didn't want to get fat or miss a dig, so they hired someone. I don't know who but I guess she was pretty desperate for cash so Mother and Dad were happy with my price point." Tim gave a small shrug. "It's why I don't have any siblings. It was apparent that I was smart enough to carry the Drake name so Mother wasn't going to hire another surrogate unless I died or stopped being a good investment. She said they were too expensive and she would die before she ruined her body with a baby."

Dick knew what needed to be done but because of his darn concussion he couldn't do it himself. But Jay, sweet amazing Jay, was on the exact same page as Dick. 

Jay pushed himself off of the couch and strode towards Tim, plucking the device from his brother's hand and depositing it in Conner's before wrapping an arm around Tim. "Jay…?" Tim asked with growing bewilderment as Jay began to drag him to the couch. "What are you-"

Jay fell back, dragging Tim down with him. Tim squeaked as Cass grabbed his feet and Dick grabbed his head. "What the fuck?"

Dick started combing his fingers through Tim's hair with one hand while placing the other on Tim's chest. "I would have carried you to term," Dick declared fervently, "even if it meant getting fat!" Tim's mom had been so cold. Dick understood that not everyone wanted the health risks with pregnancy, but to tell your kid you were happy with their  _ price point. _

If Dick threw up it wouldn't be because of the concussion.

"My baby," agreed Cass.

Jay wrinkled his nose. “You guys are weird. I’m glad you’re alive and stuff, but no. Just no.”

Dick continued firmly, "And how smart you are and your likelihood of dying wouldn’t have been a factor because you would have been my perfect baby!" His fingers curled themselves into the front of Tim's shirt.

_ A good investment.  _

"Ah, thank you?" Tim said with an honest confusion that broke Dick's heart. He shifted in Dick's lap. "Can you maybe let me go now?"

"No."

An awkward silence descended upon the room, broken by a grunt from Conner. "Everyone else here knows, Tim." 

Tim sighed and banged his head against Dick's thigh. "Fine. But you tell him." Man, this was probably going to be messed up. He gave Tim's head a pat.

Dick could handle messed up.

"The versions of me and Bart died in the other universe," Conner started, scowling in distaste at the idea of his counterpart. Dick didn't know the details he did know that Conner liked his universal twin as much as Dick liked his own. 

"Tim didn't have a support network and came up with the brilliantly, amazingly, stunningly dumb idea of cloning Kon and Bart so he could have them back."

In Jay’s lap Tim crossed his arms. "I was in a bad place. I've already apologized. Moving on."

Dick shot Tim an incredulous look but Tim wouldn't meet his eyes, twisting his head off to the side to stare at the far wall. 

"Long story short," Bart took over, "my dude can clone."

Dick tapped his fingers thoughtfully, stopping when he remembered they were on Tim's head. "That doesn't explain why we were sent designs of a cloning chamber."

“We figure out,” Cass said with a decisive nod. “Future has happened. Plan will work.”

"Yeah," Dick agreed. Beside him Jay muttered something under his breath. Probably cranky agreement because Cass was right. The blueprint was proof that it had already worked.

Right?

X-x-x-x-x

"Timothy was staring at me strangely through tea," Dami mumbled, lying on his stomach as he watched Dexter glare at him from under the couch. "I believe he failed to realize I noticed. But I did. I was a master of observation at the age of two. I am not ignorant to the stares but I do not understand what they mean."

Dexter didn't break eye contact.

_ Maybe they think you're super amazing because of how good you fought the sword lady off! _

"How well," Dami corrected. He shifted his hands under his chin. His fingers were starting to tingle. "Father and Pennyworth look upon me as though they  _ pity _ me. I, the great heir of the Wayne and Al Ghul line am above pity," he spat venomously. He buried his lips in his fingers. "I do not understand."

_ Maybe it's just because they're worried about you? My mom would give me all sorts of looks when she thought I was doing something dangerous.  _

Dami scoffed into his hands. "You are a magic sword. You do not have a mother."

_ Not anymore _ .

Dami felt something leaden settle in his stomach. Guilty. He was feeling guilty because of what he had said to a sword.  _ A sword. _

Ridiculous. 

“Father and Pennyworth have intentionally kept my brothers separated from myself,” Dami mused, pushing the unpleasant feeling in his gut aside. They had made no secret of that, but they had both claimed that his brothers needed time to heal. Perhaps there was more to it. “I think they are being dishonest in their explanations.” Timothy had seemed well enough. Dami had certainly seen him in worse shape. While he agreed with Pennyworth that Timothy was in no condition to be wandering, he also did not act like someone who needed to be sequestered. 

“I think. I think-” shame flared as Dami stuttered, his composure shaking. “I think that the separation is not because Father is worried about my brother’s health, but because he is worried about mine.”   
  
_ That just means he loves you. _

“It means he does not trust me!” Dami hissed. “I am not ill nor am I a child and everyone is treating me like I am both. I want-” Dami shifted, adjusting his arms so he could use them to cradle his face, to hide the shame of the tear drop that had started a cascade along his cheeks. “I want my brothers. I want Father to look at me the way he did back when he recognized I was strong.” He drew in a deep shaky breath as he confessed a fear that had lived on his tongue since arriving in the Manor. “I do not want to fail here, to be sent back to Mother.” She had been clear that when Father found them he would take Dami, that he would be proud and give him a brighter future than the League of Shadows would offer him. 

This was the first moment where Dami had truly considered that he might fail his Mother. That he had somehow already failed his Father. 

What would Dami do if he was sent away? 

Where could he possibly go?

_ Who would look after Timothy? _

He sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve like a grubby street urchin but his tears continued to fall. He could not get them to stop and it was  _ most unpleasant. _

_ It’s going to be okay,  _ the sword tried to soothe, but what did it know? It was just a sword.

His breath stuttered as he tried to hold it in his chest, as though he could suck his weakness back in his body and undo his cowardly confessions, but the sobs continued to tear their way out. It was only when he felt something tug at his hair that he was able to bring himself to look up.

He was met with wet sandpaper dragging itself up his forehead. 

Blinking away the wetness, Dami’s eyes tried to focus on the grey wall that obscured his face. The dragging feeling continued in a repeating interval. It was strange, wet, and not entirely unpleasant. 

It was Dexter. 

Dexter had come to Dami. Dexter was licking Dami.

The boy froze, trying not to scare the cat away. Dexter never let Dami within arms reach but here he was,  _ licking Dami _ , all of his own accord. Dami could feel his mouth make a small, perfect ‘o’ as he tried to ease his breathing. As he tried to stop sobbing like an infant.

But Dexter broke the moment, pulling away from Dami and walking towards Dami’s feet, where he could not see. It should not have caused Dami to feel anything but for some reason it cut and all of the progress he had made with his getting his tears under control wobbled. 

Until he felt a pressure on his back. Two points, not overly heavy but definitely solid, shifting until there were four, shifting until there was one mass on his back. Dami stopped breathing.

Dexter had settled himself on Dami’s back. 

Dexter. On Dami’s back. 

And then.  _ And then _ . Dexter started to rumble.    
  
Dami knew cats purred. He had read about it, had heard Dexter make that noise in Tim’s arms, but he had never been able to touch an animal when it did so. No one had told him how strangely wonderful it felt to touch a cat when it did so. That the sound would sink into his own body, washing away tension where it touched. No one had told and it was unfair because this was  _ perfect. _

Dexter shifted a little, flexing his claws into Dami’s shirt. He pressed them into Dami’s skin enough that he felt them, but not so bad that they would hurt, before retracting them, all the while purring like an engine. Dami found his breath evening out on its own, his tears drying and his neck relaxing, letting his head rest more naturally in his arms. 

He jerked his head, realizing if he stayed like this, sleep would overcome him. But if he moved Dexter  _ would move too _ . It was dangerous to fall asleep in an unguarded location, but Dexter had  _ finally _ come to Dami. 

_ It’s okay, _ Dami’s sword whispered in his ear,  _ I’ll watch for trouble.  _

Dami gave a slow blink, his eyes growing heavier as Dexter continued to pur, not stopping even after the boy’s breathing had leveled out into sleep. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there! Another chapter out. Trying to work on 18.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's called communicating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Wow. So I love all of you, most of you made me cry, and I planned to respond personally to everyone but there are almost 70 of you so I'm gonna post another chapter instead.

Jay felt like he’d swallowed a hurricane. His insides rolled and his blood twitched and everything screamed _wrong wrong wrong._ When Tim had first announced his stupid plan Jay had thought it was just Tim being Tim. Yeah, the little fucker was brilliant but even brilliance was a finite resource. Jay figured Tim would live off of hope and caffeine until he emotionally exhausted himself while his body healed, and then Tim would snap out of it or Bruce would send him off to Dinah to help Tim work past this.  
  
First cloning and now time travel? Kid had obvious issues with grief. Dinah would have her work cut out for her. 

What Jay hadn’t expected was for everyone to jump on board Tim’s train to crazy land. Tim was fucked up. Every word about his past, his parents and his time with Batman, was a snippet from a Stephen King novel. They all loved Tim, but they should have been gently dissuading him, easing him into the let down so when he crashed it wouldn’t be so hard. They should have known better than to blindly follow him.

  
Dick, at least, was concussed, and yeah, he really liked Kaldur, and yeah, he was prone to feeling guilty. He was also an idiot. So Jay could kinda see why Dick was taking Tim’s side.  
  


Bart, as a goddamn time traveller, should know how stupid Tim’s plan was. Bart knew exactly how much time, effort, and sheer desperation went into sending him back. He also knew the risks of being successful better than anyone else in the room. Even if they made it back in time, what if Tim gets killed trying to save Kaldur? What if Bane gets his hands on Tim’s time travel machine? What if he saves Kaldur and something even worse happens? Dick had been in the same room when Kaldur was murdered. What if saving Kaldur meant Dick dying?  
  
It was like none of them had ever read a book.  
  
And Conner.  
  
Conner was supposed to be the practical one; focusing on what he could change, accepting what he couldn’t, and punching things when he didn’t like what he had to accept. But he didn’t barter or beg. He carried on, just as he had always done. Watching him go along with this farce had been infuriating. Yeah, him and Tim were dating but that wasn’t an excuse for Conner to pretend to believe that Tim could actually pull off a time machine.  
  
And then Tim had figured it out. Because Jay opened his mouth Tim suddenly had plans to a god damn time machine and no one, absolutely no one, had stopped to consider that maybe fucking with the fabric of reality to bring back a couple of kids _wasn’t a good idea._ Dying sucked. Jay had first hand experience with that and the fact that he would someday die again was a thought so haunting he hadn’t been able to voice it to Dinah. But also? _Coming back sucked too._ Jay’s body felt wrong. Like it wasn’t really his. It was getting better, easier, the longer he was alive. But there was a niggling thought of being fake, being _unreal_ that lived in the back of his skull.  
  
It was a thread in the complicated knot of why he would never be Robin again. He felt like his body was waiting to betray him. No matter how many times he sparred with Bruce and Dick, how much meditation he did, he felt like there was a string somewhere that was holding it all together and he was terrified it was going to just go snap.  
  
What was dead was meant to stay dead. Jay didn’t hate being back alive but the wrongness of it was what had sealed the breaks of his bones and filled the holes left in his skin.  
  
And Jay didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t explain this. He could barely explain this to Dinah. _Guilt_ she called it. Like Jay was upset he had lived when others had died. Jay had been a street rat before he’d been Robin. He’d stumbled across dead kids, kids he’d seen the day before scavenging in dumpsters he’d already hit. He’d stopped feeling guilty about being alive a long time ago. He wasn’t guilty.  
  
He was unnatural.  
  
What Tim was trying to do was _unnatural._  
  
With Bart it had been a last ditch effort. End of humanity and all that. Not ideal, but forgivable. This was petty madness. He was risking the fucking universe to save two heroes who knew the goddamn score. It was an insult to their memory. 

“Fuck it,” Jay grumbled, pushing himself off of Tim’s couch. He was going to have no part in this. Tim was Frankenstein and Jay was going to have no part in watching him make a monster.  
  
“Jay?” Tim flicked his eyes away from the plan’s he’d been pouring over. Everyone was huddled close on the floor, taking their turn to poke and spin the diagram like it was a videogame or some shit.  
  
“Hungry,” Jay grunted as he strode out of the room. Tim hummed and flicked his eyes back to his little project. 

Outside in the hall, the press of frustration that Jay had felt in the room didn’t ease. Being physically away from Tim’s madness didn’t stop that it was happening, didn’t stop that no one else could see it happening.

Jay didn’t know what to do. What would Robin do?

Yell a warning telling them to back off. He’d told them to stop a few times and his opinion hadn’t been rejected, it had been thoroughly ignored. Physical force was next. He doubted he could smash the tube thing. Apart from tangling with a speedster, the thing had looked pretty sturdy. So he couldn’t use reason, or brute force. Bruce had drummed it into his head that when those two options were out a well placed batarang would do the trick but his opponent wasn’t Two-Face and his cronies. So Jay couldn’t act. When Robin couldn’t act he had to wait for backup. 

Jay’s backup was in that room being stupid. 

But Robin’s backup was probably playing old man games on his phone. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

Bruce shifted in his chair, tilting widely to the side as he tried to prevent himself from driving off the edge of the track as he dodged an invincible Luigi, losing his lead. He wasn’t too worried. Baby Peach was fast and he’d already unlocked the best bike for her. A steady hand, as well as a well placed shell, would have him back in first in no time. 

“Bruce?” There was a half rap on the wall, just enough to get his attention, as Jay popped into the room.  
  


“Hey, Jaylad,” Bruce greeted, setting his phone aside without so much as a glance. “How are you holding up?” As soon as the words left his mouth Bruce could tell that they were the wrong ones, even without Jay’s flinch. He should have picked something more neutral. What’s up? How’s it going? Nothing that assumes Jay wasn’t fine. He was too defensive for that. Dinah had done her best to drill it into his skull. 

Bruce needed to do better. 

“Bruce,” Jay’s voice was even but his hands were balled up into tight fists, his arms painfully straight, “I need to talk to you about something.”  
  
Bruce leaned forward in his chair, making the appearance of him giving Jay his full attention, not that his son hadn’t had it before. 

Jay took in a deep breath. And then another. “Tim’s planning on going back in time to undo what happened that night. When- when they died.”

Bruce nodded. “I know. Conner told me that Tim was looking into something like that. It isn’t a healthy coping mechanism but it sounds like Tim has lost a lot of people and doesn’t know how to handle it. I’m going to give him some time before approaching him about it.”

Jay let out a harsh scoff. “You mean after his time machine was built?”

Time machine. 

_Time machine?_  
  
“Conner said Tim was stuck on the math,” Bruce said carefully, speaking as though he could trigger an avalanche. 

Jay scoffed again, this one more derisive than the last. “Tim talked Conner into confronting Klarion, alone, before they began dating. You trusted his word? No,” Jay gave a harsh bark of laughter, “Tim already has the goddamn blueprints. He put _invent time-travel_ on a post-it note and sent himself back the designs.”

Bruce felt a whirlwind of emotions rip through him. Anger, exasperation, shock, and shame for not catching this brewing in his own house. “Who all knows?” He kept his voice flat, even, the last of Bruce before it tipped into Batman. 

“Everyone. Everyone knows.”

This was not covered in Dami’s parenting books. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay.” It was not okay. “Please head to your room and I will handle the situation.” Bruce had no idea how to handle the situation. 

Jay gave a nod and took half a step to leave before pausing. “Do you think he’s going to hate me for telling you?” 

“You did the right thing, Jay.” They both knew that wasn’t a no. 

But it seemed like it was enough. Jay silently padded out of the room, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts. His stupid, useless thoughts, which were basically his mind screaming incoherently. Defusing bombs was easier than this. He couldn’t just confiscate the designs. Tim would just send himself more, if he hadn’t already. Ordering Tim not to was about as useful as bargaining with a cat. Locking Tim up in a box, while tempting, was utterly useless because Tim was _dating_ a _Kryptonian._ Even if he built a kryptonite cage, Bart could still run through walls, and that was assuming Tim needed either of them to help because the boy was a thoroughly trained genius. 

Bruce needed an adult. He was an adult but he needed an adultier adult. Someone who could handle anything a child threw their way, who could deal with _anything_ . Someone who was more prepared for teenage angsty bullshit than even Alfred. Than even _Dinah._

Bruce needed to talk to Martha Kent. 

Right. Now.  
  
Wait. He didn’t want anyone to hear him. The Cave. He needed to be in the Cave. 

He took off, bolting through the house the way he would if there was an Arkham breakout. He cut through hidden passages until he finally made it to the office, twisting the handles on the clock until the door swung open and he could finish his descent. The moment he made it to the Batcomputer he flicked a switch, firing up the whitenoise generator so Bruce could have a conversation in private as he tried to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do. 

He put on a headset and dialed. 

A very familiar, very masculine voice and very weary voice answered the phone. “Kent residence.” 

Bruce pushed his lips together. Of course. Of fucking course. “Clark,” he responded flatly. 

There was a soft sigh. “Bruce.” A pause hung between them, both of them at a loss as what to say. Bruce figured if he were Batman, and Clark was Superman, they’d both have a million things to scream at each other, but Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne had no conflict. Other than Clark outing his son. Okay, so they had a fairly major conflict but Bruce still didn’t want to speak with the man. “Why are you calling? Is there an emergency?”  
  
Clark sounded so resigned and a part of Bruce felt vindictively satisfied. This was a man who had hurt his son and he was _suffering._ It was justice. But part of him grieved. Clark was his friend and was, or at least had been, the best of men, and it did hurt to see him brought low. If Superman could fall, then who was truly safe?

“Bruce?”

Bruce kept his tone even. “I need to talk to Martha.”

“You want to talk to… my mother?” Even though they were fifteen hundred miles away from each other, Bruce could perfectly see Clark’s face. 

“Yes,” Bruce ground out through his teeth.

“You call my mother?” Clark sounded absolutely scandalized. “On a regular basis? _Why?_ ”

A voice muffled by distance joined Clark’s side of the conversation. “Clark? Who’s on the phone?”

Clark paused and Bruce really hated that he had to do this, but he was feeling far more desperate than he’d ever admit. He dropped into the Batman voice that he used to wrangle the League. “Clark, put your mother on the phone.”

Clark’s sigh echoed in his ear. “It’s for you, Ma. It’s Bruce.”  
  
There was some shuffling as the phone was passed off. Bruce really needed to convince the Kents to let him buy them cell phones. “Bruce?” Martha’s voice was like dipping into warm water. It didn’t fix anything but at the same time it made the world seem like it might be a bit better than it was. “Is everything all right? Is this about Clark? Because I know how to handle my own son.” Martha’s voice was firm as iron. “I know my boy’s gotten himself into a twist but, _as his mother_ , I am handling it.”  
  
“And he’s in good hands,” Bruce said and he was surprised to find himself being sincere. He didn’t understand the man who wore his friend’s face, the man who had attacked his children, but maybe there was hope for him if this woman was at his back. “I need advice about my own children.”  
  
“Oh?” All the defensiveness dropped from Martha’s voice. “What are they up to now? Trying to find a way to give Conner and Tim the talk that won’t involve everyone dying of embarrassment?” He didn’t have it in him to chuckle and Martha must have picked up the weight of his silence. “Bruce?”

He was going to sound crazy. His children made him sound crazy. “Tim is the head of a conspiracy to use a time machine to go back and undo an attack that happened on the Team’s base.”

Martha’s next comment was fond. “Only you, Bruce.” She hummed. “I take it you need to redirect his focus? Maybe get him a puzzle or something?”  
  
He was way past that stage. “I need to find a way to explain that, despite having the blueprints to a fully functional time machine, actually using it, even if it is to save a friend, is a terrible decision, in a way that doesn’t cause all of my children to quit speaking to me.”

“Tim has a time machine?!” came Clark’s muffled voice. 

“Get! Go on, get! Quick eavesdropping on your mother and go help Pa with the chores, Clark.” Martha clicked her tongue. “They grow older but they never grow up. Now,” she hummed again. “The biggest thing when dealing with teenagers is to listen, Bruce. Not hear, but to actually listen. Now, I’m not all into supervillains and time travel, but is your boy having the machine really that bad? If it is, you need to listen to why it's important and then suggest alternatives, or be clear on what exactly the problem is. If it isn’t, if it is only a problem because you’ve built it up in your head, then you need to be open to what Tim has to say.  
  
“Can you do that, Bruce? Can you really listen?”

“Yes.” Bruce could listen. He wasn’t perfect but he was getting better. 

“Really, Bruce?” He could hear the well deserved skepticism in Martha’s voice. Batman wasn’t exactly known for yielding. 

“I can.” He thought back on his last fight with Tim. He’d do it right this time.  
  
“See? Easy peasy. You didn’t need to call little ole me for that advice. Now you go take care of your boys and yourself, and I’ll take care of mine.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dexter purred in Dami’s arms as the boy trudged down the hallway, holding the cat close. Not too tight, he didn’t want to hurt the animal, but his grip was firm enough that Dexter would not escape before Dami had a witness to his conquest. His goal was to show Father first, to prove that he was worthy not only of Dexter’s affection, but of getting his own animal. 

_I had a cat once_ the sword said, its voice tinged with grief. _She died._

Dami opened his mouth reflexively before biting down hard on his own tongue. There was no way his sword had owned a cat, just as it had not had a mother, but given its distress the last time Dami had pointed it out, perhaps it was wisest to simply let the issue lay. He had nothing to gain and losing the cooperation of a magical sword would not bode well for him, especially since the item could not be parted from him. 

Instead he focused his attentions on something useful, like narrowing down where Father might be. He had been limiting himself to the Manor itself, not the Cave, likely because of Grayson and Timothy’s limited mobility. For the same reason he was not likely higher than the second floor, not that the upper levels were used often. This meant that Father was likely in one of the dens, his office, or that he was attending to Dami’s brothers. Being as how Dami was already on the same floor as the bedrooms, making his way to that wing would be wisest, He could then descend and rule each room one by one. 

Satisfied with his plan, Dami marched on. His timing was fortuitous, for as he approached Father appeared from the hallway ahead, striding in the same direction as Dami. Though he was tempted to cry out for his attention, something in his father’s posture had Dami remain silent. Instead he followed like a ghost.  
  
Father stopped in front of Timothy’s door, giving it a knock before _stepping in without Timothy’s express permission._ Dami could not have been more shocked if he had stumbled across Pennyworth naked in the garden. 

_Hide,_ urged the sword. _We need to find out what is going on._

Yes. That was right. Dami was a master of stealth. Mindful of Dexter, he dropped himself down behind a decorative plant. He had pointed out to Father that they were utterly useless, but Father insisted they provided ambiance. Neither had realized they provided cover for a potential enemy and though Dami was loath to give up a stealth advantage, his family’s safety was priority. Even if Father did not agree, Dami would clear away the plants leading to Timothy’s room. 

Father’s voice rumbled, too deep for Dami to catch the words but whatever he had said was important. Grayson, Cassandra, and Father’s ‘guests’ reluctantly poured out of Timothy’s room. They didn’t spot Dami as they shot nervous backward glances at the door before dragging themselves down the hall, likely towards Grayson’s room. 

_Are we going to go eavesdrop?_

Silently, Dami crept forward, placing his hand on the door knob and giving it the slowest of turns. He held his breath as he felt more than heard the click of the bolt releasing, and when he breathed out slowly it felt like the sword was matching him. Even Dexter had gone quiet. Dami pushed the door open just a crack, just far enough that he could hear the conversation.

“Seriously, Bruce, I have no idea what you are talking about.” Timothy sounded unconcerned. Dami pushed the door open a little further, so he could see his brother sitting primly on the couch. 

“Enough.” Father’s voice was as harsh as Dami had ever heard it. “I have tried trusting you Tim, but time and time again you have gone behind my back.” Timothy opened his mouth but Father _cut him off._ Dami had never seen Father do such a thing. “I need to be able to trust you, Tim. I want to be able to trust you. So help me,” Father’s voice softened as he kneeled in front of Timothy, placing his hands on Timothy’s knee. “Help me trust you by trusting me.”

It was as bad as the galas. One moment Timothy was there, listening to Father with polite interest and the next he was replaced by a scornful creature. “So you can what, Bruce? Lock me away for being crazy? For being a danger? I’m fine on my own. I’m an adult and I can handle my own affairs.” Timothy twisted his head away from Father, facing the window and hiding his expression from Dami. 

“You are not an adult, Tim, and you shouldn’t have to be one at this age. I am your father and I am here to help, but I need you to talk to me. I know about the time machine. Tell me the plan,” Father insisted. Dami would almost say that he was pleading. 

Tim returned his gaze to Father, his face twisted into a scowl. “Jay told you.” Father’s silence was damning, but enough to make the scowl slide off Tim’s face, leaving nothing but blankness behind. 

“Tell me the entire plan.”

“You can’t stop me.” Tim’s voice was as blank as his face.  
  
“The plan,” Father insisted. 

Dami leaned closer to the door, his own breath hot against his teeth. 

Timothy dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m going to send myself back in time so that I can prevent all the events that led up to the Mountain. There? Are you happy?”

Father ignored the question but instead took Timothy’s hands in his. “When, Tim? When were you going to go back to?”

Dami’s heart sank as Timothy bit his lip. 

“A ways,” Timothy dodged. 

“Tim…” There was a warning in Father’s tone. 

Timothy slumped as though his spine had melted into wax. “It’s a good plan. A small jump and no one gets hurt at all. Everyone thing goes back to the way it should be.”

“Tell me,” Father muttered. 

Timothy leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Father’s. “To before Conner and I started to date.”

_That's so sad!_ Sniffled the sword, but as far as Dami was concerned that was not a terrible idea. While the Clone himself may have made Timothy happy, his presence had brought nothing but misery. It was because of him that Superman had attacked Timothy. His presence had caused that vile woman to write about Timothy in her rag of a paper. The Clone had been a catalyst for many things, all of which were negative.

But Dami was unsure when they had actually formalized their relationship. 

How long ago had it been? 

When had Timothy first made eyes back at the Clone?

…

……

…………

Timothy’s universe. The Clone had wormed his way into Timothy’s life while he was vulnerable and in that other universe. If Timothy undid that relationship would they become stuck there? Would Father have never rescued them?  
  
Would Timothy have still gotten Dexter?

“No!” Dami kicked open the door with a shout, Dexter digging his claws into Dami’s shoulders. A minor injury, worth ignoring. “Dexter is my friend and you will not jeopardize him in your quest to bring back the fishboys. You will find another solution,” Dami ordered. 

Father and Timothy both stared at Dami as though he had appeared from smoke. Both of them would have been slaughtered had they been raised by Grandfather. 

Father side and stood. “Damian.” He used Dami’s full name. He never used Dami’s full name.  
  
_Oh, full name treatment! At least he didn’t use your middle name. When Mom used my middle name I usually got grounded._ Dami did not understand what that meant.

“Go to your room. I need to speak to Tim alone.”

“Timothy is being a fool and you require backup,” Dami countered with a sneer.

_Did you just backtalk your dad??? You really are going to get us grounded!_

“He is not going to ground me. What does that even mean?”

Timothy let out a snort that dissolved into a laugh. It was not a cheerful laugh, but instead one that brought shivers down Dami’s spine. “I guess I’m outnumbered. Again.”

Father exhaled in what Dami recognized as one of his meditative breathing patterns. He held his silence for a moment before turning back to Tim. “I think that’s an incredibly bad idea. You and Conner are happy together and you two not being together would not have prevented any of this.”  
  
“If we weren’t together you would have never had to deal with the fallout from me being gay. You wouldn’t have had to focus on the fallout of that and would have had more attention to pay to Luthor and where he was putting his money. You would have caught it before it happened and everyone,” Tim paused to give Dami a meaningful look that once again the boy did _not understand_ , “would be fine.”  
  
Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “You wouldn’t be, Tim. You’d be trying to live in the closet forever. Conner wouldn’t be. He’d still be alone, without the family connections that the League should have ensured he had. And I might not have caught it. I have a lot of open cases and Lex is clever. And if the Mountain still got gassed and Conner wasn’t focused on saving your life? What do you think would have happened with a terrified Kryptonian on the loose?” Timothy met the questions with silence and Dami wondered if the same images that filled his mind filled Timothy’s. The Clone could have easily destroyed Timothy or Grayson in a misplaced bout of fear. Had the Clone not been occupied, there is little doubt more people would have died.  
  
Father shook his head. “You sent yourself back a time machine, Tim. You would have been smart enough to send back a hint as to when to use it.”

Tim scoffed. “Well, I’m obviously an idiot.”  
  


“I never said that!” Father’s voice cracked like a whip, though his next words were soft again. “I’m trying here, Tim. Help me help you.”  
  


Tim sighed. “The blueprints included cloning chambers.”

“That…” Father frowned. “That I can work with.” He gripped his own chin as he began to pace across the room. “Cloning chambers, time travel and paradoxes. Is it really so simple?”

“Is what so simple?” Tim asked waspishly. 

_Is it wrong that I’m glad I never had any siblings? This looks less fun than movies make it seem._

Father suddenly stopped and straightened before spinning to face Tim. “It’s a shell game. If we switch out La’gaan and Kaldur with clones and bring them here, it avoids the paradox. We never performed autopsies out of respect for Arthur, so there is no present knowledge about the bodies being clones. There is nothing to contradict that what we are going to do is what already happened.”

_Oh! Clever!_

“Of course it is clever,” Dami hissed. “Father and Timothy are both of superior intellect.”

“So you’ve figured out what I was trying to tell myself to do,” Timothy said, crossing his arms defensively. “Now you are going to tell me that I can’t do it.”

Father gave a sharp nod. “Absolutely not. Barry and I will handle the details.”

Timothy bolted upward fast enough that he fell back with a wince. “You and Barry?”

“It’s a good plan,” Father reasoned, “but it requires more than one person and it's a bit advanced for the Team. Barry can help build the machines in record time while I brush up on my cloning knowledge.”  
  
Dami could feel his eyes light up. “Timothy has cloning knowledge! He will be useful that way!” It was a good compromise that would allow Timothy to stay involved. He would act out if Father pushed him off to the side. 

_Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned that._

“Nonsense. It is a brilliant solution,” Dami assured the knife. 

Tim sighed. “Bruce.” He looked over at Dami with that same damnable expression he had been using since tea. 

Bruce sighed. “I know, Tim.”

That was enough. “Know what?” Dami demanded. When no one answered he took a step forward, and Dexter began to purr against his ear, butting his head against Dami’s. “Why do you both look at me as though I am damaged? As though you _pity_ me? I am a great warrior and I am in optimal condition. _Why are you staring at me like that?!”_ He needed to rub his eyes but he could not because he was holding Dexter and he was not going to let go. Not now. 

Father came to kneel before Dami so that he could stare Dami dead in the eye. “You’re sick, Dami.”  
  
“I am fine,” Dami argued. 

His Father’s sigh was weighted with a lamenting despair. “You are having episodes where you are talking to people who aren’t there.”  
  
“I am not,” Dami denied. He shook his head. “I am _not!”_

_From their point of view you are._

“What do you mean by that?”

Bruce put a hand on Dami’s shoulder. “Who were you talking to?”

Dami frowned. Nobody. He had not said anything to anybody. 

_You said something to me._

Oh. Yes. The sword. Dami opened his mouth to explain that it was the stupid sword he’d been speaking to but the words seemed to get lost. 

He had not said anything to anyone. 

_I’m sorry,_ the sword whispered. _You can’t tell them about me. I wish you could. I really wish you could. But you can’t because I’m cursed. I’m sorry!_

Oh. 

Well.

That left Dami with a problem. “I am well enough, Father,” he answered dully. “I do not believe that any strangeness I am experiencing poses a danger to me or the others in this household. So please, Father, look at me how you used to?”

Father’s answer was to gather Dami in his arms, loose enough that he did not drive off Dexter. 

The cat was still purring. 

  
  



	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard conversations are hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on vacation and have successfully hid that fact from my mother. Life is grand. I have succeeded in my goal of sleeping for a week.

It was like a concert. The staccato of heart beats from Dick and Tim, the humming of Bart’s and Bruce’s voice providing lyrics, but the song was only pissing Conner off. He clenched his hands irregularly, an attempt to fight the rhythm that had become trapped in his ears, as he focused his hearing on Tim. 

It wasn’t long. It couldn’t have been long. Dami practically fled the room after Bruce had gently explained that Dami was hallucinating, Bruce calling and chasing after him. 

Leaving Tim alone. 

It presented Conner with an opportunity. One that terrified him. One that he needed to take. 

He didn’t tell the others where he was going or why. He just ducked out of the room. He didn’t pay attention to the elaborate carvings of the wooden wall panels or the vivid paintings, just let his feet carry him to his destination. He didn’t knock at the door. Just let himself in. 

“Oh, hey, Conner!” Tim called, his heart pumping hard. Excitement? Anxiety? It was impossible to tell. Even Tim’s body lied. “Bruce figured us out but he said he’s going to help, which probably isn’t a bad thing-”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

Outside, a stray cloud covered the sun, sucking light out of the room. Tim’s heartbeat didn’t waver, didn’t flicker, but the way his face drained into something blank and emotionless was telling. Conner waited, waited to see if Tim would break first. If he’d ask what Conner knew or if he’d apologize once again without knowing what he’d done. 

Off in the distance, a hawk screamed. Bushes rustled. A rat was snatched from the grass. 

“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” Conner repeated. “You were mad I kept a secret about Dami, but then you pull this?”

“Conner, I-”

  
  
“Shut up!” Conner’s voice felt like it would cut glass, like it was glass that had already shattered. “I can’t believe you! If you want to break up with me you do it in the here and now.”

“I don’t want to break up with you,” and Tim sounded so sincere but Tim kept secrets. Tim lied. Conner knew Tim lied. It had been stupid to assume that Tim wouldn’t lie to him. 

“Because you’re a coward,” Conner spat, his tongue burning as though he’d licked kryptonite. “You can’t handle the present so you go back to the past to shape the world into your will.” Tim opened his mouth but Conner rolled over him. “Don’t you dare deny it! This is your third time, Tim! The third time we’ve gotten caught in one of your time travelling adventures because the future didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to.” That was unfair. Conner knew it was unfair. 

He didn’t care. 

“So you can’t handle the present. That doesn’t give you the right to steal everyone else’s. We all worked hard to get here, to get to now, and you were just going to undo it. Wipe it away and start again.”

“That’s not-”

“Future You was lucky you used a bullet, because everyone else you kill in inches!”

A hand clapped down on Conner’s shoulder, and he instinctively moved to shrug it off. “That’s enough!” Batman’s voice snapped through the room and it was all Conner could do to not stand at attention like some dumb kid desperate for love. 

“Fuck you too,” he said as he backed away, keeping both of the Bats where he could see them. “You’re going to go save Kaldur and La’gaan and leave clones to die in their places because we don’t matter. We aren’t even real people. Just talking cells.”

Tim’s heartbeat had slowed. The beats were far enough apart to worry Conner and he didn’t want to be worried. He wanted to rage, to carve the feelings of betrayal into Tim’s psyche. 

“I thought you were done letting anger control your actions,” Batman said offhandedly, and the comment cut like a knife. He had a right to this! He was the one who had been wronged. 

“So I should just shut up about this?” Conner snarked. Tim kept his eyes glued to the floor.

“No,” Batman countered. “You should discuss it. Without yelling.”

Conner scoffed. “I’m done talking.” He turned to leave the room. 

  
  
“Stay.” It was an order spoken in a tone that made the League obey. As he turned back, Conner couldn’t help but wonder if they felt the same trill of fear that he did. “Now, you are going to explain why Tim’s actions hurt you.”   


  
Why?  _ Why? _ “He was going to just erase us!” Tim didn’t open his mouth to object and that just pissed Conner off more, Tim sitting there looking stupidly at the floor. “No! You don’t get to take what we had from me. It is mine to remember! You don’t get to take my memories because you don’t like them. You don’t get to be like  _ her. _ ”

_ That  _ caused Tim’s head to snap up, his heart rate to spike. “No! I wasn’t trying- Oh god.” Tim looked positively sick and Conner didn’t know if his own guts were roiling with satisfaction or guilt. 

“Explain.”

Both of the teens froze and Conner wanted to scream. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was, except that was what was causing all of his fucking problems right now. 

“Explain, Superboy.” Batman demanded again. “That’s an order.”

The words were like rocks scraping against his teeth. “I fought with M’gann because she was abusing her powers. She tried to erase the conversation from my mind.”

He wasn’t wearing the cowl, but he didn’t need it to hide his expression. Batman’s face gave nothing away. “She’s off the Team.” 

“You’re overreacting,” Conner said as he crossed his arms, retreating a step. She’d betrayed his trust but she hadn’t hurt him.

Batman didn’t so much as flinch. If he couldn’t hear it Conner would have doubted the man was breathing. “The League catalogues mental trespass as the same as sexual assault. The matter should have been brought to my attention immediately.”

“I’m not a victim,” Conner snarled. 

Batman nodded. “You’re a survivor and M’gann poses a danger. She’s off the Team.” There was no room for argument. “I presume you heard our discussion?”

“He’s lying about why then.” Tim was  _ always _ lying. 

Batman turned to Tim and it was like the man molted, peeling off Batman to reveal the new scales of Bruce. “Tim, why then?”

Batman believed Conner. He couldn’t hold back his sigh. Batman  _ believed _ Conner. 

“I told you,” Tim mumbled, his gaze once again on the floor. 

“Tim,” Bruce’s voice was gentle and unyielding. 

Tim raised his eyes and Conner was shocked to note the small dribble of blood on his lips. “It’s my fault,” Tim confessed, leaving Conner confused more than anything. 

“What’s your fault?” Bruce coaxed. 

“Everything!” Tim screamed, launching himself onto his feet and exploding into tears. “Everything always goes wrong and I’m always the common factor! People get hurt when I’m around! People get hurt when I’m happy and I’m tired of people dying!” Sobs punctuated his words.    
  
Conner wasn’t sure if he wanted to shake Tim until his brains fell out or hug the moron. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

“Tim,” Bruce sighed like he’d had this conversation before, “you have a right to be happy.”

  
  
“I don’t even have the right to exist,” Tim snapped. 

“I’m a fucking clone!” Conner interjected. “Do you think I have the right to be here?”

Tim shook his head violently, wrapping his own arms around his torso. “That’s not what I meant. What I’m trying to say. I’m. I shouldn’t be the one to keep surviving. Everyone around me dies. If no one is around me then they’ll all be fine.”

Conner clapped a hand against his mouth, muffling a scream. His next words were surprisingly calm in that they didn’t make the walls shake. “I’m. Kryptonian. Do you know how hard I am to kill?”

“YES!” Tim screamed. 

Right. 

Kon had died. 

Bruce sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said. He sounded sincere and Conner wanted to believe it, but he shook his head. 

“You don’t even know why,” he snapped. 

Tim met Conner’s eyes, his piercing blue irises calm and unwavering even as they trickled tears. “I’m sorry I tried to take something good from you. I like being us. It makes me happy, but I always end up giving up being happy because there is something more important to do. 

“But I didn’t think about how it made you happy too. And it’s unfair of me to take your happiness away because I wasn’t smart enough to come up with a better plan.”

Conner scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You’re an idiot,” he mumbled with a sigh. That was such a Tim answer. “And if you try something this stupid again I’m-” Conner trailed off. He didn’t have a good threat. He had no idea what he’d do.

“You’ll go see Dinah,” Bruce finished for him. “Together.” That wasn’t actually awful. Dinah had helped Conner with a lot of his anger. Maybe she really could help Tim get his head on straight.

  
Tim let out a wobbly laugh. “She’s not going to have time to be a superhero if this keeps up.”

Bruce straightened into Batman. “The League is looking at alternative resources for mental health.” He turned to give Conner a considering look. “I understand that the aspect of cloning in this operation makes you uncomfortable. We are merely making genetic duplicates that have the same phenotype and will lack the basic requirements of a living being. No brain, no lungs, no heart. Just tissue. I assure you that we are not making people and if, at any point, it looks like it is required we will abandon the mission.”

Just tissue. It still gave Conner goosebumps but they were just going to grow tissue. They weren’t going to grow another him just to murder them. He had Batman’s promise and despite how shifty the man was, Conner trusted him. “Okay.” His comfort was not worth Kaldur’s life. 

“Just tissue?”

Bruce gave an earnest nod. “I promise. Just tissue.” 

X-x-x-x-x-x

Dami had managed to lose Father, though Dexter had abandoned him as he’d careened down the halls, sliding into a bathroom with poor decor. It looked as though the sink had been replaced, but the rest of the room had not been updated to fit the new piece. An oddity, but hardly worth Dami’s attention. He had a much larger issue at hand. 

“Why can I not speak of you?” he hissed at the blade.

_ Magic. _

Dami let out a displeased hiss. “Obviously.  _ Why _ does the spell not allow me to speak of you? What is the purpose?”

_ I don’t know! I didn’t cast it! _

Useless. “How do I remove the curse?”   
  
_ I don’t know!  _ The knife practically wailed. 

Dami scoffed. “You’ve been owned before. How did they remove the curse? Tell me or I will smelt you!”

An unpleasant silence hung like a stench in the air.  _ They didn't, _ the knife admitted softly.  _ I was with them until they died.  _

Chills he would never admit to raced down Dami’s spine. “How did they die?”

_ I’m not killing you!  _ The knife whimpered.  _ I didn’t kill  _ any _ of them. But I couldn’t stop anything. I couldn’t save them! I would have. I  _ tried. _ But I’m just a stupid sword.  _

“How. Did. They. Die?” Dami hissed. 

_ Jonah was shot while playing cards.  _ The knife sounded pained, as though it had formed an attachment to the man.  _ Ekram was in the army. He died in a war.  _ Grief bled through every word. 

“The others?” Dami pressed. There had to be others. The knife was  _ hiding  _ something.

_Please!_ It begged, Dami was cold, unyielding. He was made of sterner metal than this object. Finally, the knife capitulated, shrinking in his hand. _They set Cecil on fire,_ it whispered eerily. _They said he was a witch, that talking to me made him evil. We fought. We fought but there were so many people and they were so_ angry. It’s voice hitched. _They killed Aeneas because they said he belonged to the gods. Matsu-,_ it wavered in Dami’s hands, _Matsu walked off a cliff because no one liked her anymore._ It made a choking noise. _Please. I don’t- I can’t-_

“Tt,” Dami clicked his tongue even as he gripped the blade that was still shifting size in its distress. He had learned enough. The blade’s other owners had died through their own weakness, not because of any curse laid upon them. “I will not die so foolishly,” he announced, holding the knife against his chest. “I am more capable than those other fools,” he spat. “This curse is a mere  _ inconvenience, _ ” he wrinkled his nose in displeasure, “one that I will survive handily.”

The knife sniffled but ceased its wavering, solidifying into a silver dagger.  _ Okay, _ it mumbled. 

“Are there any other aspects of the curse I should know about?”

_ You can’t throw me away, you can’t tell people about me, and you can’t just not talk to me. That’s it. _

Dami nodded. He could work with that, a plan of attack already forming in his mind. Timothy and Father already had their assumptions. It was likely Pennyworth, the Clone, and the Interloper did as well, but Todd, Cassandra and Grayson were virgin territory. If he could reach them before news of his perceived state, then perhaps he could mitigate some of the damage being done. 

He tucked the silver dagger into its sheath on his hip and pulled out his cellphone. He had mixed feelings on the device. The first time he’d held one, the screen had been covered in obnoxious colors while emitting grating music. Todd had explained the mechanics of a game made for simpletons and Dami had almost destroyed the machine right then and there. It wasn’t until Grayson had explained that its primary purpose was to be a communicator that Dami had truly started exploring its features. He’d discovered that, much like a computer, he could use it to make online purchases. It also had a built in camera that was good enough for low level surveillance and, as Cassandra had shown him in secret, had access to a multitude of videos on cats, their behavior, and their care. 

However, there was this unseemly expectation that it was to be used primarily for texting instead of calling, as the device had originally been designed for. Dami did not allow himself to be pressured into being inefficient just to blend into foolish social norms, which is why he phoned Todd. 

“Hey, Dami,” Todd sounded strange, but Dami was not in a position to ponder it. “Awe man, sorry I’ve been ignoring you. Tim and Dick are just-”   
  
Dami cut him off, like a train through traffic. “I must meet with you.”

“My room?” Jay suggested. 

No. That was too close to Timothy’s room and Father would likely have circled back to analyze Dami’s behaviour once he realized he had lost track of the boy. “The North Wing, in the music room.” Though that section of the Manor was unused, Dami knew all of the boys had taken great care to explore it. “Are Grayson and Cassandra with you? They will also be needed.”

“No,” Jason said, his voice flinty, “they’re doing other things.” Disapproval dripped off of every word and Dami huffed.

“This is more important,” Dami peremptorily insisted. “You will fetch them and you will bring them to me.” He jabbed the end call button before Todd could bother him with some paltry excuse. 

The music room was on the third floor, which factored into Dami’s choice of locale. There were fewer rooms on the third floor used than the second. Father claimed it was to spare Pennyworth extra work, as the man had enough duties without having to waste his day climbing stairs. No matter what the reason, it allowed Dami to move about freely. 

He was the first to arrive in the music room, his footsteps echoing across polished floors. This room had always come off as strange to Dami, as lopsided. Against one wall chairs sat stacked, fabric seat to fabric seat, the legs creating a tent in the dust covers. They were crammed together, like frightened children who had seen a monster, while the grand piano sat near the opposite side, perfectly still under its own cover. Music stands had been herded into one corner, cast in shadow from the tall windows that blinds had been drawn closed for years. The room felt like a wound. 

_ Oh, cool! A piano! Do you play?  _

“No,” Dami admitted. Music was not a skill that had been deemed important and had therefore never been a part of his training. He could not kill a foe by serenading them with a ballad. 

_ I can play Mary Had a Little Lamb on the recorder, _ the knife proudly informed Dami, causing the boy to roll his eyes. 

“You do not even have lungs,” Dami grumbled. 

“Uh, Gremlin? Who are you talking to?” Dami spun to find that Todd had indeed brought Cassandra and Grayson with him, all of whom were staring at him with unwarranted concern. Exactly what he had sought to prevent. The Interloper had tagged along as well and at least he was not looking at Dami so foolishly. 

Dami opened his mouth. “I was speaking to no one.” Wait. He had been speaking to the blade. Damnation! He bit back a snarl and instead composed himself, hoping to do so with the skill that Timothy possessed. He tucked his arms behind his back and took a wide stance. WIth a tilt of his chin he was ready to address his siblings. “Father believes that I have become addled, likely assuming that the Fear Gas we were exposed to is at fault. I have called you here to correct those assumptions before you hear them from Father. I am fine and any strange behavior I exhibit will not affect my ability to be a contributing member of this family.”

_ You sound like a really boring movie. The type where everyone wore tophats and really fluffy skirts.  _

“Be quiet!” Dami snapped, his hands tightening behind his back. His brothers were still watching him with concern. 

“Dami,” Grayson asked quietly, “ _ who _ are you talking to?”

Dami had not been speaking with anyone. “No one.”    
  
Wait. 

No.    
  
The knife. That infernal knife. 

Dami shook himself. “I am well enough that I could still defeat any of you,” save perhaps Cassandra, “in single hand combat.”

Grayson’s eyes had grown in size, making him look like a character from the animated features he insists Dami explore for the sake of cultural immersion. Todd’s face, on the other hand, was folding in on itself, with his hands bunched into shaking fists. The Interloper looked bored, as though Dami had wasted his time even though he had not been invited. His opinion was not relevant to the matter at hand. 

“Okay.” The comment came from Cass, her head tilted like a bird’s. “Strange. But okay.” Dami felt his shoulders fall, which was odd because he had not felt them rise. He needed to be more aware of his posture. 

“Cass?” Grayson turned his doe eyes towards their sister. 

She pursed her lips and Dami would not admit to the anxiety he felt in the silence. She was perhaps his only ally in the Manor. 

“Affected. Not lost. Snaps back.” She huffed in frustration, running a hand through her dark hair. “Not broken. Fine here.” She placed a hand against her own chest, over her heart.

_ She talks kinda funny. Is she sick? _

“You will not speak of her like that!” Dami growled. Grayson flicked his gaze towards Dami before landing back on Cassandra. Dami could read the doubt in his face. “You will not pity me!” he ordered, angered by his failure to prevent his pitch from rising. “I am well. I am strong. And I am above your sentimentality!”

“Okay, Dami,” Todd said placatingly. “You’re okay, buddy. We believe you.”

Dami scoffed. This had been a foolish endeavor. “You do not and I will not be able to convince you I am fine. Then know this. Any overtures of concern are currently seen as unwelcome.”

Cassandra gave a serious nod. “I believe. Dami. Strong.”

Grayson’s expression shifted to something less pathetic, taking on a look of determination. “Okay.” He turned from Cass, walking slowly towards Dami. As he reached his brother he bent over so he could look Dami dead in the eyes. “I believe you when you say you’re going to be okay, but I also want to help you. You’re my precious little brother. You said you don’t want sympathy, so what can I do to help?”

“Cease in asking who I am speaking with when I talk out of turn,” Dami demanded. 

Dick nodded. “I can do that.”

_ I really like your brother.  _

“Tt.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Superman had not come. 

Batman had not come.

  
  
_ No one  _ from the League had come to his doorstep looking for vengeance or flinging accusations. 

Honestly, Lex was disappointed. He’d expected at least some kind of response, some flare of temper. Not this pouty silence. It was unsatisfying, like performing without an audience. Had they failed to realize it was him? Or had he finally broken them? Superman had been missing for at least a week and Lex knew he was on planet because he had footage of him in Hawaii. Was he sobbing into his cape? 

Lex hoped so. He hoped Superman was soaking in his own patheticness. But he also had hoped to witness it, to see the hero flying raggedly through the city, to listen to his impotent threats. 

He’d wanted to watch the alien break before his very eyes. 

Still, a victory was a victory and Lex felt like celebrating. Perhaps a charity event? But which charity? There were so many people in Metropolis who were too pathetic to make their way through this life and while Lex didn’t feel like giving his money to any of them, the publicity would be nice. Apparently Lane had thrown her husband out of their apartment after he’d returned from a trip. The rumor was that there had likely been a tryst, a foolish stunt to pull on a woman like Lane. Lex could send a personal invitation to her, just to help her get out of the house, of course. 

He felt his lips twist up. Superman’s Cradle was an upcoming charity, gaining ground as it promoted the plight of the child soldier. It was, unfortunately, legitimate, which was a shame because it would have made an excellent recruitment tool. Still, for Lex’s current purpose it would do nicely. 

Even Superman wouldn’t be so dense as to miss the irony. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Bruce had given Tim a quick peck on the forehead, a long hug, and a hair ruffle before darting out of the room to find Dami. It was more than Tim deserved.

Honestly, Tim didn’t deserve much of anything right now, except for maybe the scowl that Conner was wearing. 

Conner wasn’t supposed to find out, but M’gann had probably thought the same thing too. Tim had forgotten, he had just straight up forgotten, that she’d fucked with Conner’s head. He could try and use trauma as an excuse. Only hours later Kaldur was dead and the Team was in disarray, but it was Conner. Tim had promised himself he would be better and here he was, retraumatizing Conner.

Maybe they  _ should  _ break up. Conner deserved better, deserved someone that was actually a decent human being, to take care of his heart. Tim was an obvious mess and all he managed to do was drag people down with him. 

A pair of knuckles gently rapped Tim on the forehead. “Don’t,” Conner said warningly. “We’re not breaking up. Not now. Not while you’re acting dumb.”

“I keep hurting you,” Tim mumbled, holding himself tight. He ignored the pain that radiated from his injured hand as he clenched it into his sweater. 

Conner sighed and grabbed Tim by brace, pulling Tim’s hand away from his own body before Conner took both of his and cradled the limb protectively. “Yeah. You do.” Tim looked away at the admission, trying to hide his gathering tears before Conner could see them, as though he hadn’t been sobbing several minutes ago.

“You must hate me.”

Conner rolled his eyes before leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “Why do you think that?”

“Because you’re mad,” Tim mumbled. 

Conner sighed as his hand slid up Tim’s arm and around his shoulders. Conner used the position to gently pull Tim closer, careful to prevent his hand from getting squished. “Were you anyone else I’d think you were screwing with me, but you really do believe that, don’t you. That anger and hate are the same thing.” He pulled Tim a little closer and the smaller boy didn’t resist. 

He let himself fall against Conner’s body, tucking his face into the side of Conner’s neck as his body rose with Conner’s every breath. “That’s what Yoda says.”

Conner snorted as he moved his hand up to the back of Tim’s neck, rubbing small circles. “Yes, because a puppet knows my emotions better than I do.” The thumb stilled. “I’m mad that you keep making decisions alone. You need to stop doing that.”   
  


“I can’t promise I’ll get better,” Tim whispered into his neck. “I’ve always been the only one to make decisions in my life.” Beneath him, Conner stilled, and Tim’s brain took it as permission to continue, because apparently he needed to confess all his sins today. “My parents were gone more often than they were home, and Mrs Mac only came three times a week. There was food to reheat in the fridge, and I had school and had to keep my grades up, but other than that I was free to do as I please.” He wasn’t ready to talk about how he followed Batman everywhere, how he witnessed gangs tear each other apart as the Other Batman tried to beat both sides down. 

“I became Robin because I  _ made  _ Batman take me,” and despite the shit storm that had unleashed on Tim’s life, he couldn’t regret that decision. Gotham had needed a Batman who didn’t kill. If only for a moment he’d genuinely needed Tim. He couldn’t really say that about anyone else in the Other Universe. “I led Young Justice and the Teen Titans. I stayed Robin even though my Dad was against it and when he died I lived alone after I paid some guy to pretend to be my uncle, and Other Bruce only adopted me when I chose to let him.” An arrangement of convenience when Tim’s hideout had been lost in the destruction of Blüdhaven, “and then I was an emancipated minor, running one of the largest companies in the world while holding the majority of its shares. No one could tell me no.” He wasn't ready to talk about the year he wandered alone, looking for Bruce while working with Ra’s. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about that. Not yet. 

“So it’s always come down to me, Conner. I’ve always been the one calling the shots.” He tried to bury himself into Conner’s shoulder. “I’m trying. I am  _ trying _ . But I can’t promise to be different because I don’t know how.”

Conner sighed, his chest sinking with the motion. “You are trying, I am willing to keep doing this as long as you are willing to keep working on it. You are making progress.” The hand moved up to cradle Tim’s skull just below the ridge in his hairline, fingers twisting soothingly into the hair. “You knew what to apologize for this time and that’s  _ improvement _ . That’s what I want. Not perfection, but I want you to keep trying, to prove to me that you want this by  _ working _ on it.”

Tim sniffled. “I can do that.”

“I know, dork,” Conner said, “and despite the fact that you are still an asshole I’m going to kiss you, okay?” Conner pulled Tim’s head back, angling it for easy access for a kiss. Tim let him, resting most of his weight on Conner’s arm. Warm lips pressed themselves against his. It still felt strange. Not awful, but strange enough he didn’t get why people did this. 

Wait.    


  
Tim pushed himself away from Conner. “Tim?” Conner asked and Tim could hear the worry. He silently cursed himself. It had been five seconds and he’d already hurt Conner again. 

“Sorry!” With his good hand he grabbed Conner’s, pulling him into the bedroom. He pushed Conner onto the bed and dropped to his knees. 

“Tim, what are you-?”   
  


Tim ducked his head under the bed frame and grabbed a box, dragging it out and setting it on the bed. 

Conner leaned over to peek inside. “Is that… lube?”

“Jay,” Tim muttered absently. And wasn’t that a mess. He couldn’t decide if he was furious with his brother for betraying his trust or grateful that he likely saved Tim and Conner’s relationship. Feelings for another time. For now he reached into the box, pulling out a handful of pamphlets and spreading them across the comforter. “He also gave me these.”

Conner shifted closer, running a finger down a pink, purple and blue pamphlet. “Have you read them yet?”

Tim shook his head. “No. I,” drew in a breath and then exhaled sharply, “I’m not ready to do it alone.”

“And you’re not alone right now.” Tim really was an idiot. Conner just got him. Undoing him and Conner should have been a last resort, not the first one. He was so stupid. 

“Yeah.” He slowly reached, grabbing the pamphlet Jay had handed him first, the deck of cards on the front looking ominous. “Jay said I should start with this one.” Tim’s hand was shaking. 

Conner pulled the paper away and opened it up, huddling close so they could read it together. “‘Asexuals, unlike those who practice celibacy, typically experience no or low levels or sexual attraction’.” Tim could feel his shoulders tighten with every word. “‘We are still capable of creating meaningful and intimate relationships. Some asexuals enjoy sex while experiencing no attraction, while other are what we call sex repulsed’. Well,” Conner lowered the pamphlet, “that sounds accurate.”

Tim gave his head a violent shake. “But I  _ like  _ you, Conner! I do!”

Conner rolled his eyes and ruffled Tim’s hair. “I know. I have you thoroughly seduced.  _ And we’ve only read one paragraph _ .” He lifted the pamphlet again and pointed. “Look, it’s got a list of terms.”

It did have a list of terms. A long list of terms. Split Attraction Model, ace, allo, demi, queerplatonic. But there was one that caught Tim’s eye. Romantically attracted to the same gender without being sexually attracted. “Homoromantic,” he muttered, tasting the word. 

“Look,” Conner said. “We found you in our first pamphlet.”

“What if I’m not? What if I pick this and I’m wrong?” What if Tim was invading someone else’s community because he couldn’t handle his baggage.

  
  
“It feels right, doesn’t it?” Conner asked, something in his voice catching. “That’s how it was with me. I heard the word and it was like, ‘yeah, that’s me.’”

“But what if I’m wrong?” Tim asked. He could hear his own insecurity but this was important. If he accessed a space that wasn’t his he could hurt a lot of people and he didn’t want to steal a label just because he felt like he was traumatized. 

“There is literally a welcoming picture of cake on the first page. I’m pretty sure these people are friendly.” Conner pressed a kiss to his temple. “It’s okay, Tim. You can be this.”

It was like Conner’s permission triggered an avalanche and Tim’s blood rushed to his head, his heart pounding as he started to cry for the third fucking time in an hour. He was going to have such a headache later but what mattered now, in this moment, was that he had a word that wasn’t broken. 

Tim was ace. He was a homoromantic ace. And he wasn’t alone in that. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. I read and cherish all your reviews even if I don't always respond. Feel free to hop on the discord and we sometimes play Among Us, so if you like the game its always nice to have another person in the room


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces start coming together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than usual but at this point I'm just glad I have it churned out.

The Justice League was cracked and a simmering resentment filled the spaces. It was kind of funny that a single emotional blow from Superman could be just as devastating as when he used his fist. Dinah and Diana were furious, both at Superman's behavior and the League's attempt to limit their involvement. Barry wasn't sure they were talking to anyone but each other. Dinah sure as heck wasn't talking to Oliver. The millionaire had called Barry to whine about that. 

Twice.

Even Captain Marvel was mad. Barry didn't even know he  _ could _ get mad. When he was upset he was usually just disappointed in a way that made Barry feel like he'd failed Santa Clause and Batman all in the same day. 

The Bats were, well.

Barry didn't think words existed to describe what Bruce was feeling.

And then the rest of the League was ticked off because Tim had screwed with Superman and he had a flock of defenders excusing  _ his _ bad behaviour.

And Barry didn't get it. The League wasn't a treehouse club. They had a ratified Charter guiding them on how to handle stuff like this. It was pretty clear cut. 

Don't start crap.

Don't attack civilians.

Don't attack  _ children _ .

Clark had messed up in all categories. He'd been the one to step in Tim's city and onto his toes. And what did Clark think was going to happen? Tim was a Bat through and through and they weren't known for forgiving, forgetting, or generally having any healthy coping mechanisms. 

Then Clark had gone and thrown a physical punch against a normal human. One of Bruce's kids. Possibly Bruce's most traumatized kid and man, wasn't that saying something?

And there were people on Clark's side. Barry had seen that before, friends and family of convicted criminals crying that 'they weren't like that'. But this was the  _ League _ . They were supposed to be, needed to be above that, needed to be better. It was what made the heroes.

And then there were the deaths of the kids. 

All Barry could muster was guilt. Guilt that their base wasn't secure. That they hadn't been protected in a place where they should have been safe. Guilt at the relief that Wally hadn't decided to stay the night. At the relief that Bart had walked away. 

It was an insidious kind of guilt, like a worm that was slowly going to eat through Barry's brain. There would be grief, later. When it fully set in that kids were dead, when Arthur came back from the ocean looking for a shoulder to lean on, there would be more emotions. But for now it was just an all consuming guilt. 

Which was why Barry didn't even ask any questions when Bruce called asking for a hand. He'd jumped for the chance at any distraction, something to get his mind off of the mess that his side job had rapidly become.

That had been a mistake.

"I am saying this, as the time traveller guy, that this is a terrible idea." 

"Probably," Bruce agreed even as he fit a part together.

They were in a gigantic room, easily half the size of a football field with a high concrete ceiling. Fluorescent lights hung from steel cables, white light bouncing off of the white walls. Bruce said it was supposed to be a Wayne Enterprises lab but the project they were going to use it for fell through. 

It was empty save for the scaffolding Bay had been made to build and the shelves of parts Bruce had been collecting. 

Barry, risking life and limb, placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Seriously, Bruce. You can't just bend time and make things okay. I know you feel like you failed the Team. We all do. But you need to let it go and move on."

  
Bruce sighed and put the piece down, his shoulders dropping and for a moment Barry wasn’t staring at Batman out of uniform, or Bruce Wayne the Billionaire, but a tired man with too much on his plate. “It’s too late, Barry. We’re in a closed loop.”   
  


Barry’s hand pulled away as though he’d been burned. “A closed loop?  _ A closed loop? _ How on Earth did we end up in a closed loop when you  _ haven’t even built the time machine? _ ”

“Tim,” Bruce offered, his voice dripping with exhaustion. 

Tim. Well, that both explained everything and  _ nothing.  _ “Bruce, I trust you, I do, but I’m going to need more to go off of. We’re talking about the timeline, not Watchtower security, and while I do trust you, I don’t trust him.” Bruce spun and Barry held up his hands in surrender. “He’s a good kid but he’s  _ traumatized _ and survivors guilt won’t make that better. And I’m not saying no. I’m saying explain it to me like I’m Oliver. How are we in a closed loop?”

Bruce snorted. “You already have a better grasp of the situation than Queen.” Bruce sighed. Actually sighed. “Tim left a time capsule for his future self asking for plans to save Kaldur and La’gaan, to which his future self sent back the design for this machine. Which means that this plan has already succeeded or Tim wouldn't’ have been able to send back the plans.”

  
  
Barry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Time isn’t that simple, Bruce. There are no guarantees here. We might not even be in a closed loop. We might be in a branch that is going to cease to exist, or we might have split off into a parallel universe. This might cause a retroactive shift and make things worse. Maybe more kids die in the mountain. Maybe Superman kills Tim. Maybe the Light succeeds in their initial plans. Time isn’t this easy linear thing. Watch some Doctor Who before you go around trying to change stuff.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Bruce responded dryly. 

Barry slumped. “I can’t talk you out of this.”

“No.”

“Darn it, Bruce.” Barry ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a disheveled mess. “If I help you are  _ never _ allowed to mess with the timeline again.”

“Next time I’ll consult you first.”

  
  
“I’m being serious.” His comment was met with stony silence. It would have been a good idea to duck out right there, to cut his losses and go tell Diana what Bruce was up to, but the worm of guilt in Barry’s brain writhed and whispered. It  _ did _ sound like a closed loop. And it was a chance. If Barry didn’t help and things went wrong wasn’t that like killing the kids all over again? “Fine. Just, fine,” Barry said defeatedly. “How can I help?”

“Construct this for Tim.”

Barry looked at the blueprint. “This is for a cloning chamber.” He glanced up at Bruce. “How many of my lines are you asking me to cross today?”

  
  
Bruce straightened, either shaking off or burying his previous exhaustion. “Just phenotype production. Conner is in charge of supervision and if at any point the project stops meeting his approval this will be called off.”

Barry could feel the tension in his shoulders building as each individual muscle started to tighten. “The next time you call me I am  _ not _ answering the phone.”

“Yes you will.”

  
  
Yes he would. Darnit. 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Conner watched the two bundles of cells floating in the tubes. It hurt to realize that at one time he had looked like that, that some scientist had probably watched him with impatience. He wondered if any of them had watched with the same growing sense of dread. 

No heart beats. 

  
  
Bruce had promised but Conner was still listening. It was too soon, only two days after Tim had initiated the process. It would still be a few days before the clones would be at the point where a heartbeat would regularly occur. Which it wouldn’t. 

It had better not. 

“Conner.” 

  
  
He didn’t move as he felt Tim’s hand settle on his shoulder. “You know you’re allowed to blink, right?” It was a weak attempt to joke and landed horribly flat. Conner wasn’t sure he appreciated the effort. 

“Not much else to do,” he mumbled, watching the cells. He could almost see them dividing as they were growing so fast. 

  
  
On the other hand, Bart, The Flash and Bruce were slowly piecing the time machine together. Barry had to keep pausing to speed read engineering books as his knowledge from the first read-through faded. It was a weird gift, being able to basically instantly learn something but not keep the knowledge and it was slowing down progress. Bart, at least, seemed to retain what he’d read and could keep working with Bruce while The Flash caught up. 

“Hey,” Tim grabbed Conner’s hand and gave a gentle tug. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Conner’s eyes were focused on the tube. “So talk.” The bundles were definitely growing. 

Tim tugged again, a little more insistently. “Not here.” Conner finally turned his head to study his boyfriend. 

Tim was biting his lip again.

Conner fought the temptation to rub at his temples. He was exhausted. Yes, he and Tim were on the same page and the lingering rage he had at how stupid his boyfriend was had dwindled to a soft hurt that Conner would have to talk to someone about just to externalize it, so it didn’t eat at him and explode later, but now was not the time for that. Right now they were good enough and Conner was  _ tired. _ He wasn’t up for any more heavy conversations, anymore dark revelations or secrets shared at night. He just needed to regroup, needed a few days to himself to work through things before he was ready to fully dive back into his and Tim’s relationship. 

He just needed to lean on someone steady for a moment. He loved Tim, but Tim wasn’t steady. 

“Tim,” Conner sighed. He missed M’gann. As much as he  ~~ hated ~~ was angry with her he missed how she  _ knew _ what he needed. 

“It’s not bad,” Tim promised.

Conner sighed again but resigned himself to allowing Tim to tug him across the featureless room. Conner loathed Bruce’s weird warehouse. The endless bare white was worse than his Batcave that was filled with actual bats. At least there were landmarks there, t-rexes and giant pennies to mark the way. Here was just- white. Endless white. It reminded him too much of CADMUS. 

They came to a square on the floor that looked like all the other squares, but when Tim stepped on it a tile depressed and slid back, revealing a hole. Tim released Conner’s hand and dropped down into the dark. Unenthused, Conner followed. 

The space was lined with sparsely filled shelves. A few coarse brown paper towel rolls, one half used, four different kinds of cleaner and various types of scrub brushes gave it away as some kind of cleaning supply closet. It was a stupid place to located one. Trying to climb a ladder with a mop would be a bitch. 

“I don’t think this was meant for cleaning supplies,” Tim said, reading Conner’s thoughts. “But this isn’t what I wanted to show you.” He bit his lip again. 

Conner resisted the urge to shake him. “Just, spit it out Tim.”

Instead of saying anything, Tim fished a vial out of his pocket. It was full of a thick purple powder. Tim passed it over to Conner, who shook it as he frowned. It stuck together in small clumps, glittering strangely under the light. “What is it?” he asked, curiosity genuinely piqued.

Tim shuffled from side to side. “Well, you remember how I kinda locked myself away in the mountain when Bruce sent us there?”

  
  
Conner stared flatley at Tim. “Kinda?”

“Okay,” Tim admitted, “I pulled a total hermit. But I was working on something. On this. And I didn’t quite have it figured out but then we got the schematics for the new machine and things just clicked and it was way easier and should have been totally obvious but-”

“Tim,” Conner cut off the nervous rambling. “What is it?” 

“Bunch of stuff. Enzymes. Hormones. Proteins.”   
  


Conner rolled his eyes. “What does it do, Tim?” Tim mumbled, his words too mushed for Conner to make them out. “What?”

WIth a deep breath Tim smoothed away imaginary wrinkles. “They kick start the aging process. In you. Your aging process. If you want.”

Conner’s jaw went slack as he stared at Tim before glancing back at the vial. “You mean…?”

Tim gave Conner a shy smile. “I mean, if you want. And I mean that. It’s up to you if you want to take it.”

  
  
While Conner could feel the weight of stress under his eyes he couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips. He leaned forward, pressing his head against Tim’s. “This is a pretty cool apology.”

“It’s not.” Tim shook his head gently without breaking contact with Conner. 

“It definitely is,” Conner argued gently. 

“No,” Tim said stubbornly. “It’s not an apology. This is yours. Your right. Your choice.” His hand slid down Conner’s forearm and encircled his wrist. “My apology is going to be the back massage I give you the next time we have a moment that’s just us.”

Conner lifted his forehead from Tim’s and replaced it with his lips, placing a gentle kiss into Tim’s brow. He was still tired, still needed time to process, but everything felt less impossible. Tim didn’t love the idea of Conner or the concept of having a boyfriend. He loved Conner. And Conner knew that if he took this vial and threw it against the wall or poured it down the sink, Tim would  _ still _ love Conner. 

It was grounding. 

Maybe Tim could provide steady. 

“I’m still hurt,” Conner confessed. “I’m going to need some time and to talk to someone who isn’t you about it.”

“Okay,” Tim said simply, “as long as it isn’t Bart.”

  
  
Conner pushed back, looking down at Tim. “Why can’t it be Bart?” he asked cautiously. 

Tim rolled his eyes. “Because he’ll then come to me and ask me how, not if but  _ how _ , we are going to break both your legs.”

Conner stared. And stared some more. What the fuck? “This sounds like you are talking from experience.” 

Tim let out a humorless laugh. “I’ve had to tell him three different times that no level of maiming Jay was allowed.” Conner let out a wan smile but didn’t ask. He didn’t want to get into Tim’s drama with his brother, especially since as far as Conner was concerned Jay was the Bat-sibling that was currently using the braincell. Tim frowned at his expression. “You aren’t allowed to maim him either,” Tim’s order was punctuated with a poke. “I’m the one who fucked up. I didn’t listen to his perfectly valid concerns. I need to go apologize. Okay?”

Conner let a real smile cross his face. His boyfriend was an idiot but apparently he could be taught. It gave Conner hope for them. 

He pulled Tim into a hug and just listened to his heartbeat. His beautiful, dumb, boyfriend. 

“Yo! Lovebirds!” yelled Bart, popping his head down the hole. “We’ve hit a hitch.”

“Shit!” Tim said vehemently, bouncing out of Conner’s embrace. He went to take the ladder but Conner grabbed the bottom of Tim’s foot and boosted him. Despite the unexpected move, Tim adjusted perfectly and allowed Bart to pull him the rest of the way out. 

  
  
Conner just jumped. 

They jogged over to the time machine. The Flash was sitting on scaffolding, kicking his legs, while Bruce was staring at his phones as though it had said something rude about Alfred. 

“Bruce,” Tim said as he gave the machine a worried glance. “What’s wrong?”

Barry sighed. “We’re missing a piece.”

“Can’t we just go out and buy it…?” Conner asked. Bruce Wayne did have a disgusting amount of money. 

“No,” Batman responded. “Luthor is the only known person to have an Einsteinian Distender and no amount of money on the planet would get him to part with it.”

  
  
“Einsteinian Distender?” Bart titled his head. “What the mode is that?”

“It’s like a hand held nuclear powered hadron collider or something, right?” Tim looked to Batman for confirmation. 

“Close enough,” Batman confirmed. 

Bart put his hands on his hips. “So let’s go grab it.”

Conner put a restraining hand on Bart’s shoulder but it was Barry who pointed out the obvious. “It’s Luthor, kid. He’ll have it buried and guarded by a thousand guys plus his latest doombot.”

  
“So we don’t get caught!” Bart heaved in exasperation, throwing his arms up to the sky. 

“That is the plan,” Batman said dryly. “Once we’ve located the item we’ll work on a plan to extract it. It’s valuable and the person Luthor trusts most is himself, so it’s probably in Metropolis. Given the type of energy it uses, locating it should not be the difficult part. We will, however, need a distraction.”

  
  
“I can help distract-” Tim’s offer was cut off immediately.    


  
“No. You are both a civilian and not authorized to be in Metropolis.” 

Tim crossed his arms. “That’s a fat load of bullshit.”

  
  
“Tim,” Batman said sharply. 

“Come on!” Tim snarled. “Clarking fucking Kent doesn’t own Metropolis. Heroes don’t just get to lick a city and call it theirs.”

“Isn’t that what Batman did to Gotham?” Under twin glares Barry raised his hands. “Shutting up now.” 

“The League has mandated that you are to stay out of Metropolis and I am not in the mood to argue with them. Your presence is not required. You will not be coming with us to Metropolis.”

“What if I get permission?” Tim tilted his head to the side. “You can’t say no if I get permission.”

  
  
Bruce sighed. “From who?”

“Clark.”

Conner could pinpoint the moment that the headache hit Bruce. “No.”

“No!” Tim’s voice began to raise. “You need a distraction! Luthor is holding a charity ball in two weeks. We’ll know where he is and I can keep him distracted enough to keep him there.”

“I was planning on attending-”

  
  
“Leaving who to do the actual extracting, Bruce? Besides, I’d be more effective. Luthor needs to be seen not being creepy to children and blowing off a scion of the Wayne family in public would cause another scandal, which is something he, for once, can’t afford. I can call Clark and apologize and then ask-”

“No!” Bruce snapped. “You are not talking to Clark. If I had my way you would not be on the same planet as that man and if I find out that you called him I  _ will _ lock you in one of the cells until this is over. Do you understand?”

“It can’t be you at the party,” Tim argued, his voice soft. 

“You don’t call Clark and I will look for someone else to distract Luthor. Agreed?”

“Yeah. I agree.” Tim bit his lip. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Lois slammed her hand into the bag, relishing the sting across her knuckles. The punching bag was a new addition to their apartment and it was worth every penny. She loved the way her arms burned after using it and slowly but ever so surely his focus switched from punching Clark in the face to punching Luthor. Luthor and his stupid, embossed,  _ hand delivered _ invitation to his god damn charity “as a guest, not the press” because he’d heard about her and Clark and thought “a night on the town” would do her good.    


  
Asshole. 

She slammed her hand into the bag, making her entire hand heart. 

“Your form needs work.” 

  
  
Lois spun, hands up as she mentally calculated the distance to her nearest bottle of pepper spray before her guest registered. “Wayne,” she sniffed. “Can’t you knock?”

Bruce leaned up against her island counter, playing with an apple. “Would you have answered?”

“No,” she said with brutal honesty. She walked to the kitchen and pulled a towel off of a bar chair, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I am not in the mood to have any of you come rush to Clark’s defense. Our marriage is none of your goddamn business and if you try and stick your nose in it I will cut it off.” Bruce chuckled and Lois glared. “I’m not kidding, Wayne.” 

  
  
He held up his hand in surrender, the apple gleaming under the fluorescents. “I have no desire to have my nose cut off. Can you imagine the trauma it would cause Gotham?” He gave a Brucie smile, all boyish and charming. Lois hated how adorable she found that expression. “I’d never been on the front page of a magazine again.”

Despite herself, Lois’s lips quirked. She sat down. “What do you want, Bruce?”

He set the apple on the counter, his hand resting over it, completely still. “I need your help with Luthor.”

“I’m listening.”

“He’s hosting a charity ball and I need him distracted throughout the night.”

Lois ran the towel over her face, collecting the sweat. “Then go distract him. I think he hates Brucie Wayne more than he hates Superman. If you go he’ll be so focused that there will be another wave of memes on how he wants to hate fuck you.”

Bruce choked on air and Lois smiled viciously. “I take it you didn’t know about those?”

Bruce looked at her with dead eyes. “I preferred my life five minutes ago, before I knew that.”

“I don’t get how you didn’t know.” Lois stole the apple, glanced at Bruce’s hands and determined that they looked clean, and took a small bite. “They’re everywhere after each party.”

Bruce gave a helpless shrug. “I guess the PR department thinks I’m delicate?” He leaned forward. “But I can’t go. I’m needed...elsewhere.”

  
  
_ As Batman _ . Because of course. “Then send one of your kids.”

  
  
Now Bruce looked grim and that was never a good sign. “Dick is injured, Jay isn’t ready to be unsupervised in a high stress environment. Cass isn’t established enough to hold Luthor’s attention and as much as I love Dami he would maul someone within minutes of being there, which is not the type of distraction we’re looking for.”

  
  
Lois rolled her eyes. “Send Tim. He takes after you enough that Luthor will hate him on sight.”

Bruce did a very unlike Bruce thing. He flinched. The mask fell down and locked in tight when he realized what he’d done but Lois was a reporter and a flinch was blood in the water. She inched forward on the bar chair. “Why won’t you send Tim, Bruce?”

His face shuttered. “This is very close to having my nose cut off territory.”

She frowned. It was a small polite frown. She knew this because she had practiced it in front of the mirror. She had practiced the interrogation that followed it in the field. And Bruce, dear Bruce, had dealt with enough press, had dealt with Lois enough while she was wearing her badge, to know that he’d lost this fight. 

“Tim’s not allowed in Metropolis.”

“Why?”

Bruce sighed. “Lois, please. Don’t ask me these things. It’s better if you don’t know.”

Lois scoffed. “Did you just-? I am a goddamn reporter, Wayne.” She tossed the sweaty towel at him and it was only his damn furry reflexes that saved him from taking it to the face. “You give me the facts right now or I’m going to go digging for them and I won’t be subtle.”

“Dammit, Lois.” Bruce shook his head and walked to her cupboard, pulling out two glasses. He grabbed ice from her freezer before opening her liquor cabinet. “What do you want?”

“Wine.”

  
  
“You’re going to need something harder than that.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

Lois listened silently as Bruce walked her through what had happened since she last saw her husband. He kept his voice even, calm, the way he did when speaking to a potential witness and was trying to prevent them from being emotional. He recognized that Lois knew she was being managed. 

The fact that she wasn’t protesting was telling. 

He gave her the bare bones on what the distraction was for. Luthor had something. They needed it. End of story. 

When Bruce’s voice had faded to nothing in the apartment, Lois sat in stillness and in silence. Bruce didn’t move, hoping that his presence brought some small measure of comfort. He knew Lois well enough to know that anything more overt would not be well received. 

Finally Lois broke her pose. 

She slowly grasped her wedding ring, just a simple gold band, and slid it off her finger. 

She dropped it into her scotch.

“I’ll distract Luthor. He’s an ass who gave me a personal invitation. And I’ll take Tim with me.”

  
  
“The League-”

  
  
She looked up at him, the fire he’d always respected flaring in her violet eyes. “The League does not own Metropolis, Clark does not own Metropolis, Luthor does not own Metropolis, and if any of them try to act like they do, I will make them tomorrow’s headline. You understand.” Bruce nodded. He did. He and Lois knew each other well. Bruce regretted not knowing her sooner. 

“Make them understand, because if you don’t, I will.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“And in exchange for opening my good scotch and making me spend a night with Luthor, you’re going to find me a good divorce lawyer.”

  
  
That, he hadn’t expected. “Lois,” he cautioned. 

“Careful, Bruce.” Her eyes were hard. “You’re getting into cut off your nose territory.”

  
Bruce nodded. “I’ll send you a few referrals.”    
  
He let himself out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Who quote on time-"People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually, from a nonlinear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff."
> 
> I really want to thank everyone for all the reviews. I know you've had a looooooong wait for this chapter and I'm sorry. COVIDS really been bringing me down. My sister got sick and is a long hauler, which is pretty daunting. She's not in danger of dying but she's developed some permanent and severe asthma that she is now medicated daily for. She's in her mid 30s, so you all stay safe and wear masks. 
> 
> Once again, thanks everyone for all the reviews. I'm not going to lie, with out them it would probably have been a few more months before I churned out anything but with your support I've managed to write a few one shots and another chapter of this. 
> 
> Chapter Wise, Expansion will be finished sooner rather but I don't have an exact chapter count quite yet. 
> 
> Again, thank you for all the support. You've really helped pull me through.

**Author's Note:**

> I found a permanent way to link my discord after a chapter only now because I'm dumb lol 
> 
> https://discord.gg/u8Zq6TN


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